


Prologue to the Prologue

by lil0urry, marquien



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist!Lance, Body Swap, Happy Ending, Japanese Keith, Kimi no Na wa AU, Lance loves Naruto, M/M, Poet!Keith, Temporary Character Death, cw for mentions of underage drinking and weed, cw for some biphobia, half cuban half mexican lance, lots of mexican culture stuff, we promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil0urry/pseuds/lil0urry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquien/pseuds/marquien
Summary: For some inexplicable reason, Lance and Keith, two strangers from different cities, find themselves waking up as the other a few times a week. Shenanigans ensue.AKimi No Na Waau





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is our first multichaptered fic. 
> 
> It's based off the movie _Kimi No Na Wa (Your name)_ and contains major spoilers for it, if you haven't seen it and plan to. Oh and we made Lance half Cuban, half Mexican on this fic because we're Mexican, we hope you don't mind. Translations for the Spanish bits will be at the end of every chapter :)
> 
> The artwork at the beginning is by pngpotpies. 
> 
> Thanks to our friend Aaliyah and Ron's sister Ale and Mar's boyfriend Oscar for putting up with us while we wrote this out.
> 
> We hope you enjoy it!

**Prologue to the Prologue**

**i.**

 

When Lance was a kid, he sat on the floor next to Abuela’s bench with a bunch of strings on a messy knot around his fingers. He just couldn’t get it right. He remembered he could see Abuela’s nimble fingers working with the multicolored, never ending strings, tying the threads of wool into an intricate work of art. It didn’t matter if it was a _colcha,_ a poncho, a tapestry or a simple bracelet. It was always colorful, always beautiful.

Nothing he ever made was as good as Abuela’s work. In fact, he didn’t think he’s been able to finish a single freaking _bracelet_ that he deemed acceptable. Sometimes, it was the colors that never looked quite right, other times it was the pattern. It was almost always messy, never consistent. And he felt that most of the time he spent in Abuela’s workshop was spent unknotting the tangled mess of strings he always ended up making. Lance groaned in frustration, and could feel Abuela watching him from the corner of her eye, a fond smile upon her face.

“Lance,” Abuela started. “Do you know why we do this?” she questioned, her warm voice shaping the Spanish words with ease. “Why we weave?”

Lance looked up from his frayed bracelet. He stared at his grandmother in the warm light of her favorite room in the house. She was sitting in front of her huge floor loom, a cloth in progress hung from the breast beam. Abuela’s wrinkles formed ripples from her smile and her eyes sparkled with kindness and wisdom. Her silver hair was tied in a short ponytail by one of the colorful ribbons she had created, contrasting with her dark brown skin.

Lance’s features scrunched themselves up into a thoughtful frown. “Um… because it’s fun?” he supplied. Though if he were being honest, he wasn’t having that much fun at the moment, not with his hopelessly tangled thread and unfinished bracelet.

Abuela chuckled softly, turning back to her loom and resuming her work. Lance watched at how she switched up the different threads to make a flowered pattern, how she worked the levers and tightened up the strings.

“Look around you,” Abuela said, gesturing to the rest of the room that was full of different types of looms, boxes of yarn, a sewing machine, finished and unfinished works that hung from chairs, work tables and even other looms. It was a splash of color, as alive as a botanic garden in spring. Tapestries hung from the walls, picturing landscapes of Oaxaca, flowers, patterns.

“All of this,” Abuela continued, beating her new weft string into place. “It’s all made up of stories. We weave to tell stories.

“You weave and you tell a story. Each color a character, each pattern a place. And you choose how to tell it. What happened first, what happened next?” Abuela’s eyes shone. “You fold these threads together, like a singer performing a song that isn’t theirs but they make it their own. Not just singers do this. Painters can too and--”

Lance gasped. “Like Frida Kahlo!”

“Yes,” Abuela laughed. “Like Frida Kahlo. With these threads you can be an artist, too.” She moved to pinch Lance’s freckled cheek. “And that’s the closest thing you can be to God on this earth. You can freeze time. You take a scene from the past and bring it to the present, or create something completely new. Your finished work is as much thread, as much part of the universe, as it is part of you.”

Lance nodded, smiling.

. 　*   . . * ˚  · 　  
✵  * 　     + ✹  
.   *　　　 ✷   . ✫  
　　 　　　　　 ˚    ⊹  
　　　　　  　　. 　　　　 ✦ *

On the day the prologue to the prologue starts, Lance stumbles into his house after a long day at school. He drops his bag on the floor, hangs his jacket and drags his feet through the wooden floor to his room. He shuts the door and plops himself onto his bed, trying not to look at the empty side of the room, hoping no one barges in anytime soon. He feels exhausted after a long night of little sleep and the ache in his chest just doesn’t go away. When he thinks about his conversation with his father the night before-- he inhales sharply, fisting the woolen blue _colcha_ that covers his bed. The ache in his chest just doesn’t go _away_.

He is so mad at himself for hoping, for thinking this time it might be different from. From last time. He cannot believe that he thought that when he told his father he likes girls and boys, too, he wouldn’t be--wouldn’t be called _that_ . That he wouldn’t be dismissed, threatened and rejected. He feels so _stupid_.

He brings his hands to his face, willing himself to not cry about this. He’s just about calm as he can get when his little sister pops her head into his room shyly. He manages to beam at her and sits himself up on the bed. She smiles back at him, her smile bright despite the missing teeth.

“Hey Dani,” Lance says softly, stretching his long arms above his head. “What’s up, _beba_?”

“Can you help me with my bracelets?” she asks. “I can’t do the knots right.” She sniffles with her slightly runny nose.

“Sure!” he says and lets himself be practically dragged by his sleeve to their grandma’s workshop. He kneels down to the tiny work table where his sister sits. A few pink and golden strings are tangled up on his sister’s hands, and a knotted bracelet sits unfinished on the table.

“I want to make one for Rebeca,” she says, as way of explanation. She grins. “Then we’ll have matching ones!” Her smile drops a little. “But this one is not nearly as pretty as the one you made me.”

Lance smiles, feeling his heart clench a little. “Yours is really good, Dani,” he reassures her truthfully. “I’m sure Rebeca will love it.”

They start untangling the last messy pattern to review the knot count and check that the correct threads are being used. Dani watches with a small frown, focused, nodding as if making mental notes and takes the threads away from Lance when she thinks she’s ready to try again.

She works in silence, her tongue between her teeth in concentration. She looks so tiny and pretty and dedicated, it melts Lance’s heart. So Lance joins her and begins a bracelet, just to spend more time with his little sister, ignoring the part of himself that is reminding him he has a pile of homework waiting for him in his room. He watches his fingers move almost automatically, the brush of the threads on his fingers a reassuring presence. He feels himself relaxing, as if he’s untangling and releasing the ache on his chest little by little.

After a while, Dani speaks up.

“Lance?” she says and waits for his hum of reply to continue. “Why were you and Papá fighting last night?” Her voice is small. She makes a fist around the threads on her fingers. “Are you-- are you going to le-- lea--”

Lance drops the wool he was holding and wraps his arms around Dani in a hug. He doesn’t like the way this conversation is going.

“No, no, _beba_ ,” he says. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

His sister curls into his hug and Lance feels the ache in his chest returning. He feels so lost for a minute, clutching his sister close to him. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, and he doesn’t notice his grandmother had walked into the room until she speaks.

“Daniela,” she says. “ _Ya está la cena_.”

Dani perks up at that, squeezing before she melts away from Lance. “Is it _enfrijoladas_?” she asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Abuela nods. “ _Ándale_ , Marco _ya está en la cocina_.” And Dani’s face lights up before she practically runs to join her twin brother.

Lance moves to stand up from the small work table and sees Abuela, one hand leaning to the door frame clutching something to herself. She crinkles her eyes in a smile and beckons Lance.

“ _Ven, ándale_ ,” she says. Lance walks up to her feeling the ache in his chest again-- does Abuela know? Did she listen to a tiny bit of the conversation from the night before? Is she disappointed, too? Suddenly she places a hand on his freckled cheek, like she has done so long ago, and grins. She finds Lance’s hand with her own and presses something into his. A bracelet.

When Lance opens his hand to look at it, his breath catches. It is a thread bracelet, like the many that are spread across the house, but this one-- it has to be Lance’s favorite. He strokes it, watching the pattern and the colors bleed together. From dark pink to purple to blue. The bisexual pride flag. Lance looks to his grandma, finding her gaze soft and her smile kind. Lance grins, wrapping it around his wrist and knotting it up. His heart aches, but in a good way for the first time in a while, and he squeezes his grandma into the tightest hug he’s ever given. She squeaks, surprised, with Lance’s lanky body wrapped around her small, plump figure. She pats his back, ever so gently.

Lance can feel tears prickling behind his eyelids. He isn’t being rejected, threatened or dismissed. He feels only unconditional love and waves of comfort seeping through Abuela’s skin. Lance thinks that the silence, the bracelet, the hug speak more than a thousand words could. And this is all he needs.

“ _También hay enfrijoladas para ti, eh_ ,” she says after a while. Lance feels her smile against him before she pulls away, heading towards the kitchen.

Lance watches her go and smiles, scratching the back of his neck before following suit.

 

After dinner, Lance’s father arrives. His presence seems to pull the strings of tension taut like warp threads on a loom. Even Dani and Marco quiet down when his father turns to look at them after putting his jacket on the hanger by the door. He stares at them for what seems like a very long time, everyone seemingly frozen until Papá speaks up.

“What?” he says, his voice biting. “ _Ya es tarde_ , go to bed.”

And everyone seems to shuffle into motion, picking up their empty plates from the table. Dani and Marco rush to their room while Lance stays behind, helping Abuela load the dishes into the dishwasher. Lance feels his blood boil, overshadowing the ache in his chest and fixes his father a glare that he returns in kind. Still, he hides his pride bracelet under his sleeve, thinking a few seconds after that this isn’t what he should be doing, but he can’t help it. This is stupid.

Lance feels like a moody thirteen year old again. He all but stumps his way out the kitchen and slams the door to his room as loud as he can, hoping his father flinches at the sound wherever he is. He launches himself into his bed again, digging his face on a pillow to catch the wetness spilling from his eyes. He cries for a little while, feeling angry and sad and the ache in his chest _just doesn’t. go. away._ He goes to the bathroom and does his nighttime skincare routine before he returns to his room, burrowing himself up under the blue covers.

As he lays in bed, he hates himself a little for wishing. Like, he could never ever be able to leave Dani and Marco and Abuela and his best friends. But still, he wishes.

“I wish,” he says into the room with the empty bed next to his. “In my next life. I want to be a hot boy in San Francisco.”

He doesn’t really know _why_ San Francisco, he’s never been there. But he has seen the pictures of the city. The buildings! The cafés! The trams! The Golden Gate Bridge! The Pride parades! There’s something truly charming about running away _there_ that moves Lance, without fearing Papá, without stupidly hiding bracelets from him. Everything about it seems so magical and perfect and, though he feels a bit guilty, he wishes.

 

* 　　  
　　.　.  
　 　　 * 　　　　  . ✵  
　  　.　　　. 　 　 +  
*  ⋆ ˚ 　  　　　　. 　　 .  
    　　　　 　　  ⋆ 　　　　  
　　 　　  　　　　 　　　　　·

 

“Keith. _Keith_!” The loud voice and the equally loud rapping at the door wakes Lance up. He startles, throwing the covers off the bed and moving to open the door automatically. There’s a man standing there, a bit taller than him, with half-moon eyes that glare at him. His hair is wet and the tie around his neck is still untied.

“You were still asleep?” the man asks with an irritated tilt to his tone. “It was your turn to make breakfast and now I’m late.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’ll have to take the bus to school, now. I don’t have time to drop you off,” he continues, turning to walk down the small hallway. “And _go_ to school. I don’t care if you’re late. You can’t skip.”

Lance shakes his head, confused, as the man disappears into the living room at the end of the hall. He hears some shuffling and the door opening a few seconds later.

“Have a good day, son!” the man calls out, and the door clicks shut.

“ _Son_ ?” Lance mouths to himself, shaking his head again as he turns back to the room and the sight of it shocks him. This is-- not his room. It’s smaller, for starters. It has only one bed, bigger than his own, and there’s dirty clothes strewn across the floor, a leather jacket draped over the chair at the messy desk on the corner. The walls are covered in Star Trek posters ( _Star Trek_ ? Lance thinks. _What the fuck, Star Wars is better_?) and a few pictures scattered here and there. It’s a fucking mess.

Lance stumbles on a pair of boots on the floor-- “What the-- _¿qué vergas?_ ”-- as he launches himself over the bed to look at the pictures closer. They are tacked to the walls, not framed, and they feature various scenes of a city, some shots of nature and buildings and details, or two Japanese boys smiling up at the camera with plastic katanas. Lance smiles when he sees one of the boys with a pink scar across his nose that reminds Lance of Iruka _sensei_ in Naruto. He whistles. “That is a cool-ass cosplay.”

A cell phone chirps with the ugly ass SciFi iPhone ringtone. It makes Lance jump. He spots the phone on the nightstand and swipes to unlock it, thankful it doesn’t have a passcode. There’s a message from a person whose name reads “Lotor the annoying lab partner” and a puking emoji. It says _where tf are u keith_.

Lance frowns, throwing the phone back on the bed and keeps examining the room until he finds a mirror. And looks. And sees.

He thinks he hears himself gasp, looking at the reflection of the body he’s standing in. He’s hot, what the fuck. He sees a strong jaw, full lips and a nose dotted with freckles under wide, half moon eyes that carry lilac irises. He decides to take off his shirt and stands on his boxers in front of the mirror, mouth agape.

“I fucking lift!” Lance exclaims excitedly, staring at his flexing muscles. “This is such a cool dream,” he adds in a murmur.

The ugly ass SciFi iPhone ringtone starts from the bed and it makes him jump again. Another text message has come in from Lotor The Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji that says _im not doing ur work for u fucktard_ . And a next one comes in almost immediately, _mr. sendak is going to kill us and its ur fukin fault_.

Oh right, he’s supposed to go to school. Looking around the room he finds what seemed like a fancy but crumpled school uniform that doesn’t smell too bad. It has a logo which reads Varga High that steals a laugh out of Lance. Varga. _Verga_. He giggles, knowing it’s immature but still.

As he dresses himself he finds that he’s wearing a bracelet that reminds him of his own bi pride flag one. Only this one is more worn, the colors muted. He runs his fingers on it, wondering at the coincidence. So this Keith guy is queer too, huh.

Lance finds a red backpack stuffed in the corner of the room. He picks it up, along with the worn leather jacket on the chair and leaves the room. He walks down the hall, finding it uninteresting, and eventually moves to the largest room in the small apartment, noticing the small kitchen, a lumpy, worn sofa and a small tv. The kitchen is as messy as the bedroom, with dirty dishes on the sink and takeout cartons on the counter. Lance’s stomach growls, so he peeks into the almost empty fridge with a frown.

“Who the fuck lives like this?” he whines, and slams the door shut. Eventually he spots a red apple and grabs it with a frown (he likes green ones better.) There’s a set of keys on the counter, and he grabs them before heading out. He walks down one flight of stairs and finds himself in a small lobby. Lance searches for his -- _Keith’s_ phone in his pockets to look up where the fuck Varga High is at. He walks clumsily, shouldering the main door open and as he steps into the sunlit street, he almost drops the phone.

It’s a wide street, full of people on their way to work. Some walk, some bike. Cars rush past him at speeds unthinkable in his small town, Altea. Lance stumbles his way down the street, slack-jawed, bumping into people in the sidewalk but he couldn’t seem to give a fuck. He can spot skyscrapers on the distance! What the fuck. And there’s a mother. fucking. _Starbucks_? He’s never been to Starbucks! He almost whoops as he runs to the café in the corner and buys himself a large, overpriced coffee.

“This is the coolest dream _ever_ ,” he squeals to himself, taking a sip from his venti caramel Frappucino with _extra_ caramel. He steps out of the coffee shop and keeps wandering down the street, amazed at the amount of people and cars and buildings and he just can’t stop staring.

 _Oh, right,_ he remembers eventually. _School._

Lance takes out the phone from his pocket and opens the Google Maps app and he actually drops the phone this time upon seeing his location. He’s in _San Francisco._ This dream just keeps getting better and better.

He looks up Varga High, and finds the bus he’s supposed to be taking to get there, thankful that this Keith guy keeps a bus pass in his wallet. A few stops after he gets on the bus, Lance finally spots Varga High. The school is huge, with a large lawn filled with enormous trees that look almost a thousand years old, and a beautiful building made out of red brick. He makes his way to the open iron gates and looks around beaming.

“I think I’ve never been this excited to go to _school_ ,” he whispers to himself, wrapping his hands around his coffee and sipping the last of it. Before he goes into the building, he makes sure to throw the Starbucks in a trash can. He can’t be that person who gets to school two hours late with a fucking Starbucks. He refuses to become a meme.

But it’s maybe too late, since he realizes that someone is staring at him, and is making their way to where he is. It’s a really tall man, wearing an ugly purple suit that matches the tie Lance is wearing. _Uuuuta_ , Lance thinks, _it’s a teacher_. He looks around wildly, trying to find somewhere to hide. Or. Something.

“Ko _gain_!” he hears the man’s deep voice closer than he thought it was.

“It’s Ko _gane_ ,” Lance surprises himself by replying, feeling irritated for some reason he just couldn’t place.

He feels the man put his hand on Lance’s shoulder and squeeze harder than necessary. “Do you really think you’re in a place where you can talk back to me?” he all but hisses. “After skipping my chemistry class? After getting to school _two hours late_ with a Starbucks at hand?” Oh, this must be the Mr. Sendak that Lotor The Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji was talking about earlier. “You’re in a whole lot of trouble, Kogain. Principal Zarkon wants to see you.”

Lance flinches as he’s led to the principal’s office. This dream sucks.

 

“This dream _really_ sucks,” Lance whines. It’s been a long fucking day, okay. He got threatened by Principal Zarkon, got yelled at by Lotor The Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji, who is apparently the principal’s _son_? And is as annoying as his name promised, ~~and actually hot in a weird way~~. He doesn’t know where his classroom is, or his locker (thank fuck this pretty, friendly girl called Ezor helped him out, even if she gave him a bewildered look when he asked). He didn’t bring any homework, which made Mr. Ulaz, the kind literature teacher, look at him with eyes wide with disappointment. And he apparently has a job that he’s late to, according to a dude named Shiro who texted him earlier.

Lance finds himself in front of Juniberries’, this really fancy restaurant in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. Lance feels a bit intimidated. This is where this Keith guy works? He takes a deep breath, and walks through the front door even though he has the feeling this isn’t where employees are supposed to enter. The restaurant is big and almost empty, but he supposes that the busiest hours are to come. There’s a girl at the host stand who looks up at his entrance. She smiles brightly at him, and Lance has the feeling he’s seen her before.

“Keith,” she says. “You’re late.”

He smiles back, eyes flickering to the name tag that reads Acxa. Oh, he’s seen her at school, at lunchtime with Ezor. “Hi Acxa,” he replies, his lips shaping the unusual name with ease. “I’ve… had a weird day.”

She laughs. “So I’ve heard.” Her eyes twinkle. “Ezor told me you forgot where your locker was, what the fuck is up with that?”

Lance starts to laugh nervously, scratching the back of his neck. It feels weird to him, despite the fact that this is a gesture he’s used to. There’s just too much hair. Why does this guy have a fucking mullet? “Haa, haa… I’m, uh…”

“Keith!” he hears someone call gently. Lance turns around and sees a tall, buff guy walking towards him. He has a kind smile and a tuft of dyed platinum hair that contrasts with the rest of his dark hair. Lance recognizes him from the pictures he’d seen on Keith’s bedroom this morning and oh my god. This dude literally has _Iruka-sensei’s scar_. Lance had assumed that was just part of the costume they were wearing on their childhood picture. But this is just great. And the guy is super hot. Lance wonders how the fuck does Keith live around so many hot people and not die.

“Dinner rush is about to start, you better get ready,” Hot Guy continues. Lance looks for the name tag reads Takashi, and lets himself be led by Takashi to the employees’ room in the back.

“Um, Takashi--” Lance starts and is met by a burst of laughter.

“What the hell, you never call me Takashi,” he replies. Lance’s eyes widen, fuck, fuck _fuck_.

“Uh--um…”

“Shiro?” he hears a new voice with a really pretty English accent say from the door. They both turn around and Lance’s jaw almost drops. Keith is literally surrounded by hot people. Lance feels his bi heart stutter a little when he sees the beautiful woman by the door with dark skin and silver hair in a chef’s uniform with a tag that says _Allura, Sous-chef_. “Fath-- Chef wants to see you,” she says. “He wants to talk to you about the drink recommendations for tonight’s menu.”

“Sure thing,” Takashi-- _Shiro_ says and leaves the room. Lance is frozen, unable to stop himself from staring at the pretty sous-chef as she walks past him to her locker.

“Keith,” Allura says, opening the door to her locker without sparing a glance at Lance. “What the fuck are you staring at.”

“Ah, uh,” Lance stutters in high-pitched tone, feeling a hot blush creep up his neck. He forgets all of his best pick up lines, the ones he’d spent hours practicing in front of a mirror for a _time like this_ . He clears his throat and moves to lean against the locker next to her, putting his best game face on and tries again. “Is your name Allura because you’re so….. _Alluring_?”

Allura turns to him then, her blue eyes wide, before she bursts out laughing. She laughs so hard she actually doubles over, bracing herself on her open locker as to not fall to the floor. Lance’s face heats up again, a twinge of hurt and embarrassment running through his body.

“Whaaat?” Lance says with a pout.

Allura stops laughing then, looking at Lance in shock. “You’re-- you’re joking right?” And when Lance doesn’t answer, Allura laughs _again_ . “Keith, I’m a _lesbian_ ,” she says. “And you’re _gay_.”

“Oh,” Lance frowns, looking at the bi pride bracelet on his wrist in confusion.

Allura shuts the door to her locker and turns to look at Lance. “Give up on Jordan already?” she asks with a teasing smile, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Are you trying your luck with girls then?”

Lance feels a bit stunned, still processing the fact that this Keith dude is actually gay and not bi, despite the fact that he’s wearing a bi pride bracelet. He shakes his head, realizing that Allura is still speaking to him.

“What’s with you today?” Allura asks, pulling her hair up into a bun with the hairband she’d just pulled out of the locker. “Are you feeling okay?”

And for what feels like the millionth time today, he laughs nervously. “Sure, I just-- I just need some air.”

“You just got here,” Allura says with a frown.

“I need some air,” Lance says again, pushing past Allura to a door that Lance supposes leads outside. And that’s when he bumps into another guy, sending them both crashing into the floor. And when Lance looks up at the guy, he is done, officially, he can’t believe this.

“Why is everyone so hot?” he wails. The beautiful black skinned boy in front of him looks at him with a puzzled expression. “Shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

The boy laughs, standing up and offering a hand to Lance. Lance accepts it, his face hot, feeling like he’s in a fucking rom-com. This is the best dream _ever_.

“We can pretend I didn’t hear that,” the boy says, his brown eyes bright. He runs his hands through his curly black hair and Lance can feel himself melting back into the floor. “But if it helps, I think that all the time too,” he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, with a wink for good measure, to officially kill Lance.

After what it seems like forever, Lance finally regains his composure and shoots a smile at the beautiful boy, realizing from his name tag that this is the Jordan Allura was talking about. He learns that, apparently, this is the guy this Keith dude has a crush on, and Lance decides not to fuck this up, even if it’s just a dream.

“Anyway, work calls,” Jordan continues with a casual smile. “See you in a bit, ‘kay?” he says before he’s out of the employees room.

When Lance walks back into the building a few minutes later, still in a daze, he finds all the waiter staff in the backroom. He’s thankful that Keith doesn’t have a lock with a combination in his locker, but one that unlocks with one of the keys on the keychain Lance had grabbed from the kitchen that morning. He grabs his black apron and name tag that says _Keith, Assistant Waiter_ and turns to the ginger haired man that is calling for everyone’s attention. It’s Coran, the manager, and he begins talking to the staff about tonight’s menu.

Juniberries’ is a Chef’s Table restaurant, Lance learns. Allura and her father, Chef Alfor, are the ones in charge. Coran goes over the table assignments for the waiters, warning them that tonight they are all booked out, and then continues by announcing who will the assistant waiters be, well, assisting.

“Keith, my boy,” Coran finally says. “You’re working with Jordan this month.”

Lance’s eyes widen as Jordan meets them with a kind smile and offers his fist to bump. Lance grins, and makes an explosion sound after meeting Jordan’s fist with his own. It makes the black boy giggle.

When Coran dismisses the staff, Lance turns to Jordan. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’ll be like, my senpai, right?”

Jordan snorts. “I guess so,” he replies as Lance follows him to the main room. “ _Kouhai_ ,” he adds, turning back to Lance with a grin that shoots straight into Lance’s little bi heart (he’s perfect??) before they’re both swept up by the rush of patrons that arrive to dine.

 

Lance should’ve known that things at the restaurant wouldn’t be any better than they were at school. He felt completely out of his element throughout the entire evening, dropping trays left and right, messing up drink orders and constantly bumping into diners’ chairs. Shiro had kept glancing at Lance from the bar all night, constantly asking him if he felt all right. And Jordan had been unfailingly kind, every time, no matter how badly Lance fucked up.

Lance sighs, throwing himself into Keith’s bed, feeling tired but still wired. He wonders when he will wake up from this, but a part of him feels like he isn’t dreaming, not really, not anymore. It all feels too real. The bed under him, the clothes on him, the bone deep exhaustion within him. It’s all too real.

He stares at the Star Trek posters on the walls, the pictures, the mess on the floor, the poetry books and anthologies on the messy desk. There’s a red beta fish on the desk too. Lance gets out of bed and plops himself down on the chair in front of the desk to feed the little fish and examine the extensive collection. Dickinson, Siken, Ginsberg, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Lance has heard some of those names, and he’s pretty sure that they’re all gay poets. He snorts, leafing through the worn out books with mild interest. There’s some post-its, notes on the margins, underlined passages and hearts on some corners. Lance supposes those mark Keith’s favorite poems. If he’s being honest, Lance has never cared much for poetry or literature or anything, but he finds it incredibly endearing how this guy treats his books with such care.

Lance closes the Ginsberg anthology he was eyeing and sets to organize the desk a little, just out of habit. He likes his room clean, okay. With so much literature around him, he wonders if this Keith guy has something of his own, like a journal or something. After some shuffling around, Lance finds it. A leather-bound notebook, just as pretentious as he thought it would be. He holds on for a moment, thinking if it’s okay to invade someone’s privacy like this… but what the hell, it’s a dream, right? But still, Lance just flips through the notebook without really reading, feeling too tired to. The notebook is filled with pages upon pages of messy handwriting, some poems here and there, but mostly dry recountings of Keith’s daily life.

Struck by inspiration, Lance grabs a pen and flips to the latest blank page and sets to write. _Dear diary_ , he jots down, adding some heart doodles for good measure. _I have fallen in love today,_ he keeps going, feeling dramatic as he thinks Keith might be. _With the most beautiful man in the world, jordan the waiter. I have acquired his cellular phone number, truly my most marvelous feat of the day, after spilling red wine all over my shirt at work. That was also truly marvelous. I surely hope this man feels the same way i do him, as my gay heart beats faster whenever i look at his beautiful face. We walked to the bus stop together, under the light of the lesbian moon. Truly, i have been blessed._

Lance finishes with a flourish, feeling proud of the beautiful prose he has inked. Then, he yawns, and practically throws himself back into bed. All in all, despite the day’s shortcomings, Lance thinks this was a good dream. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We'll be updating every two weeks. Let us know what you think, or say hi on twitter in the meantime!
> 
> lil0urry - @lanceconpecas  
> marquien - @keithconpecas (twitter); the-broken-chord (tumblr)
> 
> (we love freckles)
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
> Colcha - Blanket  
> Beba - Pet name for a baby girl  
> Ya está la cena - Dinner’s ready  
> Enfrijoladas - a Mexican dish based off tortilla, beans and cheese  
> Ándale, Marco ya está en la cocina - Go, Marco is already in the kitchen  
> Ven, ándale - Come on  
> También hay enfrijoladas para ti - There’s also enfrijoladas for you  
> Ya es tarde - It’s late  
> ¿Qué vergas? - The literal translation is “what the dicks”, but it’s a mexican slang for what the fuck  
> Uuuta - It’s a shortened expression for “bitch”  
> Senpai/Kouhai - from wikipedia for the non weebs. Senpai is used to address or refer to one's elder colleagues in a school, dojo, or sports club. So at school, the students in higher grades than oneself are senpai. Neither are students of the same or lower grade: they are referred to as kōhai. In a business environment, those with more experience are senpai.


	2. ii.

Waking up felt like coming back into his own body. 

Lance gets out of bed, head fuzzy. He shuffles to the bathroom he shares with his younger siblings, still in a daze. He yawns when he walks in, noticing Marco is already there brushing his teeth. His little brother’s eyes follow him through the mirror, as if waiting for something. They have a Dramatic Staredown.

Marco pops his toothbrush out of his mouth and finally speaks, his speech garbled by the toothpaste. “Are you gonna start pinching your butt again?” 

Lance’s eyes widen. “Whaaat?” he says, his hand on his bare chest. He would never do that, in front of his baby brother?

Marco spits the toothpaste in the sink and rinses his mouth. “It’s not a great butt,” Marco says, hopping down from the little stool he and Dani use to reach the sink. He moves past Lance and out the door, prompting Lance to pop his head out after him.

“Oh, what do  _ you _ know about great butts?” Lance calls down the hall and Marco giggles as he runs to his room, making Lance’s features soften into a fond smile. He shakes his head as he shuts the door behind him and moves to pee. 

He gets ready to go to school as fast as he can, since Dani was already freaking out over being late. Lance dons his favorite blue Star Wars shirt and picks up his backpack as he rushes out of the room, noticing for a bit the uncharacteristic mess at the desk and makes a mental note to clean it up when he gets back home. 

He dashes to the kitchen, picking up a  _ green _ apple (the  _ right kind _ of apple), and joins his siblings at the garage where they stash their bikes. Abuela always insists Lance to accompany the twins to their school before he bikes to his own. Lance used to complain about the detour but now he actually enjoys it. He enjoys riding alongside his baby brother and sister, joking around and teasing each other silly. 

As they lead their bikes out of the house, Dani turns to Lance, her gapped teasing grin adorning her face. “You  _ don’t want to _ take us through one of your shortcuts today, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we got lost yesterday!” Marco pipes in, hand flailing around. “In this town!”

Lance lets out a confused laugh and shakes his head, feeling suddenly dazed again. They all hop on their respective bikes and ride the familiar, daily route to the small elementary school. Lance listens as Marco recounts his latest fight with his arch nemesis, Bianca. 

“She doesn’t think Korra is as great as The Last Airbender,” Marco explains, the distress clear in his voice. Lance can tell that the youngest Flores feels personally offended by that statement. “ _ Con eso ya sabes que algo está raro ahí _ .”

Lance laughs. “ _ Claramente _ .”

When he gets to his school, he leaves his bike at the rack and meets his best friends at the entrance. When Lance joins them, Pidge and Hunk are having a heated discussion about the latest Naruto Shippuden episode and the upcoming series finale. It is not until Pidge is saying something about Sasuke doing--

“What!” Lance interrupts. “I didn’t know that happened? How do you know that?”

“What, you didn’t watch last night?” Pidge asks, confused.

“Wednesdays aren’t Naruto nights,” Lance says. 

“Today’s Friday,” Hunk informs Lance as they reach their lockers. “Last night was Thursday, Naruto Night. So, you missed it?”

“Oh no,” Lance moans, getting his textbooks out of his locker. “Twitter is gonna be full of spoilers.”

“Hey,” Pidge says. She shuts her locker’s door and turns to face Lance. “You remembered your combination today.”

“Huh?” Lance questions, the fuzzy feeling back again, but Pidge and Hunk have already moved on to the topic of their upcoming English exam. Lance shakes his head and forgets all about it. 

 

English class has never felt so frustrating. Mr. Iverson started talking about this month’s assignment, which will require a 1,200 word essay about Slaughterhouse-Five, which makes Lance almost bang his head against the desk. He’s never been good at English- no, correction, he’s always been  _ terrible _ at English. It’s not that he doesn’t understand deeper meanings and metaphors in short stories or novels, Lance just feels like his ideas can’t come together to form a depiction of what he’s thinking. He’s better at drawing it out, anyway, or weaving it into tiny tapestries like Abuela had taught him.

“Anyway, Flores, when you talked about the author’s life creeping into the fiction of the story, how would you say it challenges the perception of Slaughterhouse-Five as a novel?” Mr. Iverson says and Lance just  _ freezes _ . What is this guy going on about? He’s never even  _ asked Lance  _ about what he thinks because he just never participates in English. 

Lance feels the silence flooding, stretching around the classroom for what feels like infinity. What does he mean by the author’s life  _ creeping _ into the story? He doesn’t even know this novel had biographical elements! Which he thinks that’s what the teacher is implying. He hasn’t even opened the book. He looks around and spots Hunk giving him an encouraging look and Pidge’s hand resting on her chin, staring nonchalantly. 

“I, uh--” he finally starts as he begins to scratch the back of his head. 

“I think the author blurs the line between truth and fiction,” Pidge starts and Lance feels like time is picking its pace back up again. He feels a little bit dizzy, how is this happening?  _ Again? _

 

Lance spends the rest of the class and the next two periods in a daze. Somehow, he feels a bit like he is still in a dream. But dreams just come and go, right? Why does he feel like he hasn’t actually woken up yet?

The cafeteria food is awful, as ever, Lance finds when he walks in for lunch period. He grabs his tray with a weird looking beef patty and sits down next to Pidge and Hunk. He picks at his patty with a frown on his face.

“This sucks,” Lance announces. “When will we get pizza again? They haven’t served it in forever.”

Hunk shoots a puzzled look at Lance, chewing on a dry ass patty of his own. “What do you mean, we got pizza yesterday.”

“What!” Lance exclaims, throwing himself back into his chair in despair. “No……”

“Are you okay, man?” Hunk asks, concern filling his voice. “You’ve been acting weird today.”

“Yeah, you were acting weird yesterday too,” Pidge joins in, taking out her lunch from her bag. Lance and Hunk stare at her in jealousy as she bites into a beautiful looking peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Pidge eyes them suspiciously before she gives up the act. “Don’t worry,” she says, taking out two more sandwiches from her bag. “Mom packed up some for you, too. She knows you guys love her homemade peanut butter.”

Lance and Hunk’s eyes widen at the sight of the perfectly cut bread filled with delicious peanut butter. 

“Pidge, have I told you you’re my hero?” Lance tells her sincerely. Honestly, this has been the only good thing about his day. Truly, Pidge deserves a million awards for being the best friend ever.

“Not enough, to be honest,” she replies with a cocky smile. Lance and Hunk take bites of their perfectly homemade peanut butter sandwich, tasting whatever the hell Pidge’s mom uses to make them so good. There’s a peaceful kind of silence, and it actually makes Lance smile after putting up with so much confusion today. Sometimes a sandwich can, in fact, make his day better. 

“But honestly, Lance,” Hunk speaks up after a while. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yesterday, you sat at Ethan Craft’s desk,” Pidge cuts in.

Lance blinks pointing his index finger at him. “I sat at Ethan Craft--” he aggressively shakes his head. “We don’t even have assigned seats!”

“Oh, but you  _ know _ that’s his desk,” Hunk says, nodding sagely. “It’s the desk on the far left corner. It’s his.”

“Not to mention you didn’t watch Naruto?” Pidge continues. “What’s up with that?”

“And you sprouted out Kurt Vonnegut’s entire biography at English!” Hunk exclaims. “I was surprised.”

“And here I was actually thinking you finally opened the book,” Pidge adds, rolling her eyes.

“Did you look it up on Spark Notes?” Hunk narrows his eyes at Lance. “You know that’s cheating.”

“What--” Lance starts.

“Did you talk to your dad?” Pidge says, a note of worry in her voice. “How did that go?”

“I--” Lance tries again.

“Yeah, and did you call Andy?”

“Are you feeling sick, is that it?”

“Guys!” Lance slams his hands on the table, startling his chatterbox friends into silence. “I’m fine, okay! I mean, I think I’m fine…”

“What do you mean you  _ think _ you’re fine?” Pidge says, raising a brow.

Lance sighs, feeling flustered by the relentless interrogation. “I just--” he begins, but cuts himself off. “Last night, while I was sleeping--”

“Wait, tell me it’s aliens. Tell me aliens came to you in your sleep,” Hunk says, leaning closer.

“What? No.” Lance rolls his eyes. “I just had a weird dream, okay.”

“So no aliens.”

“No aliens.”

“Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Hunk!” Pidge cuts in.

The bell rings and Lance, for the first time in his life, is grateful it did. Pidge and Hunk grunt at the old, rusty, deafening noise, and Lance chuckles to himself, feeling his body relax progressively already.  

“Aaand that’s my cue to stop being interrogated,” he says, gaining his confidence back as he swings his backpack over one shoulder. “I’ll see you guys after class, ‘kay?”

“Just wait for us this time, you asshole!” Pidge calls after him. Wait for them?  _ ¿Qué vergas? _

 

Next period, Lance steps into the art classroom, his favorite place in school. This is what he’s been looking forward to today, to shove behind everything that happened before and just breathe the smell of musty wooden desks, pencil shavings and acrylic paint. This is the space in school Lance is most comfortable in, where he feels he is actually free to express himself, not even worrying about doing things a certain way. He doesn’t feel the need to pretend to be a good student in front of his teacher, like he does in every single class. He just  _ is _ , and in fact, he is encouraged to just be. He greets Ms. Dew, the kindest teacher at school, and takes up his usual desk, the one in the front row facing the teacher’s desk and smiles at the woman sitting there. 

As soon as everyone is sitting at their desks, Ms. Dew stands up and begins her lecture. Lance takes out his blue notebook and pens to take notes. This is literally the only class he does this for so enthusiastically. He loves Ms. Dew’s lectures on art history and different techniques and all. It’s always so, so interesting to him, and if he’s being honest, his own art has gotten a lot better since he started taking classes with Ms. Dew. She always makes them explore different styles and mediums, and even though Lance still loves his digital art and weaving, he’s really grown as an artist because of Ms. Dew’s encouragement. 

“Since we’ve been looking at photography this month, last session we briefly mentioned the Golden Hour, does anyone remember that?” Ms. Dew starts, standing in front of the classroom in front of her colorful powerpoint presentation. A few students nod and others look as lost as Lance does. He skims through his notes, trying to find something on this golden hour his teacher speaks of, but instead finds some ugly doodles that are clearly not his and something Lance recognizes as a haiku written over and over with different variations, as if the author was trying to get it right. It’s clearly written with his favorite black gel pen, which he never lets anyone borrow because they always end up stealing it. He frowns, but let’s it go since Ms. Dew has already started on the next slide.

“The Golden Hour marks the period shortly after sunrise or before sunset, when the daylight is redder and softer than when the Sun is higher in the sky,” Mrs. Dew starts. “It’s important in photography because of the shadows and the depth that cameras can capture thanks to this unique lighting. Perfect for portraits and some very interesting landscape shots,” she pauses. She shows some particularly beautiful examples of pictures taken under the light and Lance feels enraptured.

“Because of the Sun’s position, its rays impact the Earth at a low angle and they have to travel through more of the Earth's atmosphere before they reach us. On their way to the Earth's surface, they encounter atmospheric particles such as dust and water droplets, which filter the sunlight, ultimately making it less bright. This process also adds more indirect light to the mix, softening contours and reducing the contrast,” Ms. Dew explains, flipping through her powerpoint. 

There’s a brief pause in which Lance can hear some students’ pencils scribbling some notes, and others, way in the back, whispering to each other. It ticks Lance off a bit, because how can anyone not pay attention in this class? So disrespectful! He ignores the part of himself that reminds him he does the same thing in algebra, but that class is just so easy and boring, unlike this. 

Ms. Dew fixes the students in the back a hard, stern glare, but still kind. It shuts them up right away, which makes her smile before she continues.

“So, the Golden Hour does not necessarily last an hour. The closer to the equator you are, the shorter the Golden Hour is. The further from the equator, the longer the golden hour lasts. We’re lucky over here in Altea, we get a decent amount of it but some places have it even better. For example, in Alaska during the summer, there is a period of several hours of Golden Hour light later in the evening, and during the winter, nearly all daylight hours have a Golden Hour quality to them.”

Ms. Dew starts going through a few examples she brought along with her presentation. Almost every picture features a landscape, with golden light bursting through the horizon. The yellow colors make Lance feel warm inside, calmness projecting above the cities and beaches captured in the photographs. They all look magical, otherworldly, and something hard to pull off, trapping that ethereal feeling in pictures. But for the month’s assignment, he guesses he’s gonna have to try. He thinks he might go the portrait route, though, since he finds them more interesting to draw and picture.

When the powerpoint presentation is done, Ms. Dew instructs the class to go out and take some pictures. “Since it’s not the Golden Hour, I just want you guys to try and play with shadows, or find places where you might wanna take some pictures at when the sun’s at that point of the day. I want to see results, though, so add those pictures into your portfolios next to the Golden Hour ones. You’ll see how different they are.” She smiles and moves to sit back down behind her desk. “I’ll be here if you have any questions or need any suggestions. Now go!”

The students shuffle out of the classroom excitedly, some with their smartphones and others with their cool professional cameras. Lance sighs, looking at the smashed lens on his iPhone and hates himself a little for forgetting Papá’s old camera at home. 

Lance stands up awkwardly and makes his way to Ms. Dew’s desk. “Uh, Ms. Dew?” he starts softly. The teacher smiles kindly at him. “I may have forgotten my camera at home and my phone’s doesn’t work, um.”

Ms. Dew takes her glasses off and stares at Lance, then sighs. “I’ll let it slide this time, ‘kay?” She pinches the bridge of her nose and shoots him a smile. She pats the desk in front of her, encouraging Lance to sit down, which he does. It makes him feel badass, sitting on a teacher’s desk, what the fuck.

For the rest of the period, Lance sits and talks to Ms. Dew about the different stories and myths around the Golden Hour, twilight, dawn... which she didn’t include in the presentation because of the time and because she didn’t feel it was that relevant to the class. They talk about symbolism and stuff that Lance can include in his pieces to give them more depth and emotion. When the bell rings, he leaves the classroom feeling inspired and calm, for the first time in this hectic day. He’s already got a few shots in mind. He’s gotta ask Hunk if he wants to model for him. 

The Golden Hour. A time of transition, a period of timelessness. When the day meets the night. Lance thinks it’s pretty cool.

 

Pidge, Hunk and Lance meet at the bike rack after school, like they always do. Pidge makes a quip about how she thought Lance might not show, which he ignores. He literally doesn’t get it.

“Man, what a day,” Lance announces as soon as they start walking, each one holding their bike at their side.

“Yeah, you know what I could use right now? An arcade,” Hunk chimes in with few enthusiasm left in his voice.

“You’re aiming too high, man, there’s not even a café,” Pidge deadpans, which reminds Lance of his dream last night. He went to a Starbucks. That had been cool.

“We have got to live in the most boring town in the whole state of California,” Lance says.

“There’s only like, a bus that stops by once a week,” Pidge continues.

“No bookstores, no dentists,” Lance says, counting off his fingers.

“No jobs,” Pidge adds.

“No one to date,” Lance moans.

“I mean at least we have two bars--” Pidge starts.

“None of which we can even go to anyway.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“Come on, guys,” Hunk says. “Give me a break, it’s not that bad.”

Pidge and Lance just stare at their friend blankly, which makes the taller of the group shrug.

“I mean,” Hunk starts, hopping onto his bike now that they’re on the street. “There’s um… a Walmart?”

Pidge laughs and says, “Of course, there’s not a place on Earth that capitalist monster can’t reach.”

That startles a laugh out of both Lance and Hunk. Lance then sighs as they pedal down the streets of Altea. “At least we’re graduating soon.”

“One more year!” Hunk says, grinning.

Pidge nods. “It can’t go by fast enough.”

“Hey, you guys wanna go back to mine and play some video games?” Lance asks.

“Sure,” Pidge replies. “Tomorrow we’re meeting up at mine, anyway, right? For the ecology project?”

“Mhm,” Lance says, and they bike all the way to the Flores’ house on the edge of town.

 

˚  　　　  ˚ * 　　　　　✵     
*   . ·   ✦ · 　   
  
  ˚ ✹  . · 　　　　 .     
　　 　    ⊹ 　　 　 ⊹    
　 ⋆ 　  　 . ⊹

 

Later that day, after Hunk and Lance got their asses kicked by Pidge’s mad skills on Smash Bros (like she always does, honestly, Lance doesn’t even know why he keeps trying), Lance makes his way to his room. He kicks his backpack under the bed, not in the mood to do any homework whatsoever and sighs. The mess on the desk.

He doesn’t remember his desk being this messy when he went to sleep. There are leftovers on a plate which are clearly not the enfrijoladas he had last night, along with scraps of crumpled up paper everywhere and notebooks out of their usual place. He wonders how Abuela hasn’t yelled at him for leaving this mess. 

Lance notices a particular page, something written that doesn’t actually look like his handwriting. That’s strange? These notebooks haven’t left his room, he just uses them whenever he’s avoiding homework and proceeds to make some doodles instead. 

**_WHO ARE YOU? IS THIS REAL?_ **

The writing is bold and big, covering the entire page. Lance literally takes a step back.  _ Qué vergas.  _ Is there like, a  _ duende _ or something writing on his notebook? Messing up his stuff? Abuela has told him stories about those tiny beings that steal stuff and move it around. He’s never really believed in those stories, but Abuela always talks to the  _ duendes _ whenever she misplaces something and somehow the things always show up. He honestly thought that Abuela was just forgetful but now…

He scratches the back of his neck, remembering Hunk’s comment about aliens earlier that day. Fuck, maybe it’s aliens. Or  _ duendes _ . Who knows. What the fuck. His head hurts. 

Lance shakes his head and decides to leave the notebook back on the shelf above his desk. This is so weird. So weird. Part of him wants to text Hunk about it, but he feels like he’s going to sound crazy. Today’s been just so weird. So weird.

Lance throws himself into his bed, trying to fit all the pieces together. He remembers the incredibly realistic dream he had last night. He remembers waking up in a daze, the daze that followed him around all day. And what the fuck, he missed the latest Shippuden episode. Oooh, he should watch that. Wait, that’s not-- that is not the point. God. Fuck.

Lance groans, running his hands through his hair.

“ _ ¿Qué vergas está pasando? _ ” Lance says into the empty room. He narrows his eyes, looking around. Maybe… the room isn’t as empty as he thinks… what if there’s…  _ duendes _ . “¿ _ Hola _ ?” he says tentatively. God, he feels ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. Still, he keeps going. “ _ Duendes… _ Aliens… if you’re out there… _ porfa ya no anden chingando _ .” 

“Are you talking to yourself?” Lance hears Dani say from the door, which startles him into seating up. He didn’t even notice she was there, popping only her head in like she does. Lance blushes and stutters a little.

“N-noooooooooo, what are you on about?” he says, voice squeaky.

Dani narrows her eyes, but decides to let it go. “Abuela says dinner is ready.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lance replies.

Dani shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Lance does a bit of homework, takes a shower, does his skincare routine, changes into his blue space pyjamas and jumps back into his bed. As he burrows himself up under the cover, he looks up at the ceiling, staring at the glow in the dark stars he stuck on the ceiling as a kid. He counts them up, like he’s done so many times since he was eight. Whenever he was scared, whenever he couldn’t sleep, the glowing stars always calmed him. It isn’t working right now, though. Maybe he’s too old for this.

He feels a bit lonely and confused and tired. Maybe he’s overreacting a little bit? Maybe he’s still dreaming? Or what if he’s never been dreaming at all? Being this Keith guy felt so  _ real _ . For a moment there he really thought he was a hot waiter in San Francisco. He entertains the notion of Keith being a real person and not just a figment of his imagination. Lance’s logical thinking tells him he’s being irrational, but his right side brain urges him to think about the exciting part of this concept. Being in someone else’s body  _ suena bien vergas, la neta _ . It’s almost magical, and Lance is pretty sure he could use some magic in his life right now. He holds onto that thought and closes his eyes. 

He wonders, if Keith is real, how he is doing right now. Is he up, all the way in San Francisco, thinking about this? Does he even know if Lance exists? Did he dream about Lance too? Is he wondering if Lance is real as well? He thinks of the writing on his notebook, of Shiro and Allura and Jordan and all the awesome people he met in his dream. It would be really nice, Lance thinks, if it were actually real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll finally see Keith next update, we promise.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! We'll be updating every two weeks. Let us know what you think, or say hi on twitter in the meantime!
> 
> lil0urry - @lanceconpecas  
> marquien - @keithconpecas (twitter); the-broken-chord (tumblr)
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations**
> 
> Con eso ya sabes que algo está raro ahí - You know there’s something weird about her  
> Claramente - Clearly  
> ¿Qué vergas? - The literal translation is “what the dicks”, but it’s a mexican slang for what the fuck  
> Duende - Elf  
> Duendes - The plural form of duende  
> ¿Qué vergas está pasando? - The literal translation is “what the dicks”, but it’s a mexican slang for what the fuck is going on  
> ¿Hola? - Hello?  
> Porfa ya no anden chingando - Please stop fucking around  
> Suena bien vergas, la neta - The literal translation is “it sounds super dicks, to be honest”, but it’s a mexican slang for sounds awesome


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Keith wakes up in Lance's body once again, well, he isn't that surprised anymore. But it's still... quite an experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! Mar and I had a rough couple of weeks but we made it! But hey, have an extra long chapter :) Thank you for being patient with us! We hope you enjoy it. Translations are at the end, as always. Let us know what you think!
> 
> also cw for biphobia mentions

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

* 　 ✦ 　 . 　　　 　　 　 　

✦ 　　　 ⊹ * 　　　　 　 　

* 　　　　　　　 ⊹ · 　　　

. ✹ 　　　 　 · ⋆ 　

　 . 　　　　 ·

When Keith wakes up to the first notes of Britney Spears’s _Toxic_ , he isn’t really that surprised. Not anymore. He’s annoyed. He tosses and turns to find the cellphone so he can stop what he thinks is the most obnoxious song in the century, only to find himself falling from the stupid bed and hitting his head against the floor. The stupid bed is so small. It’s so wrong.

“Fuck,” he whimpers with a voice that isn’t his, gingerly patting the tender spot on his temple. It’s probably going to bruise and swell. He reaches up to grab the phone on the nightstand to put an end to Britney fucking Spears’ irritating voice coming out from the speakers and drops the phone next to him on the hardwood floor. His ears are thankful. “Ugh.”

Keith sighs and sits up, his back against the bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and takes a moment to look around the room. It’s not a new sight, but it still feels weird. It doesn’t look that different from the last time he was here: two beds, one unslept in, a mess on the desk and a wardrobe next to it, the stars on the ceiling.

There’s that feeling again, the inexplicable heaviness in his chest. He doesn’t know when it started, but whenever he wakes up, the echoes of a voice from his dreams he can’t quite place linger. He feels like he’s forgotten something, and it makes him sad, but he doesn’t know what it is. It’s so annoying. He runs his hands through the brown curls on his head. God, this is still weird. Yeah, he’s back in Lance’s body.

“Lance? _¿Qué haces en el piso?_ ” a voice says from the door. Oh yeah, that’s also a thing. He apparently understands Spanish now, and he can’t really blame this development on his mediocre middle school Spanish classes.

Keith turns around, poking his head over the bed, and sees the plump figure of a small woman he recognizes as Lance’s grandma. The sight spurs him into action, quickly standing up.

“Um,” he starts nervously and fidgets with his knitted bracelet, “nothing?” he says, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“ _Dijiste que me ibas a ayudar, ¿te acuerdas?_ ” Abuela says, shifting her weight from hip to hip with her hands resting on them. There’s a moment of silence, and it seems like she’s waiting for Keith-- _Lance_ to say something. He has no idea what he allegedly said he was going to help Abuela with, but Keith guesses Lance must’ve agreed so he’s going to have to do this mysterious task.

“Ah, _sí_ ,” he manages to answer, because even though he magically understands Spanish now, he can’t still speak it. At least his mediocre middle school classes taught him enough to be able to say _sí_ , _no_ and _cómo estás_.

“ _Ándale, cámbiate pues y te espero en el taller_ ,” she says with a smile, and then she frowns. “ _Y recoge este cochinero_.” Abuela points to the messy desk. Ah, yes. That.

Keith remembers launching himself into the desk that night after avoiding Lance’s family, bringing his dinner upstairs, and desperately looking for somewhere to write on. There’s something so grounding about writing with a paper and a pen, no matter where he is. He just enjoys writing to calm himself down. Writing helps him make sense of the world around him, especially whenever he’s stuck in confusing situations, like waking up inside someone else’s body. What the fuck.

Keith walks up to the desk and stares at the balled up and ripped up papers from his messy drafts of his mediocre poems. There’s also the empty plate where he ate the quesadillas from the other night and a notebook open on the page where he inked his desperation.

**_WHO ARE YOU? IS THIS REAL?_ **

He picks it up, closes it and puts it back on the shelf. Yeah, he was here. He was actually here. It wasn’t a dream. It’s real. Or, well, maybe it’s a weirdly accurate recurring continuous dream? Ugh, who knows. He picks up the rest of the mess and throws the paper on the trash can under the desk.

Keith makes his way to the wardrobe and opens the door. Holy shit, this Lance guy has everything organized. His jeans are neatly folded. His shirts are coordinated by color, going through the rainbow in order. How does this guy even have the fucking time to do this? It honestly baffles Keith and makes him ashamed of his own goddamn messy closet back home.

He picks out a red shirt from the lot and realizes it’s got Darth Maul’s ugly ass face on it. He cannot wear this. It goes against his moral code. Keith puts it back on its place, trying (and failing) to fold it as neatly as it originally was. He looks for other options but, to his surprise and disgust, almost every single shirt Lance owns is Star Wars merch. Even… a lot of merch from the prequels… This literally makes Keith flinch.

He ends up picking a plain blue t-shirt, with none of that filthy Star Wars nonsense. Honestly, this Lance guy must be out of his mind. Like, Star Trek is better? He shakes his head and decides to go to the bathroom after grabbing some jeans and new underwear. He closes the door behind him and sighs, catching a glimpse of Lance’s reflection in the mirror. Keith can’t help it, he stares. Those messy brown curls and bright midnight blue eyes are… very attractive, if Keith’s being honest. His eyes rake those long arms, that tan, brown torso, that small layer of fat around his stomach, and the well defined, round shape of Lance’s ass that fits so well under his palms. Keith bites his lip, hating himself a little bit for doing it but he’s eighteen, okay. And he’s gay. And he likes butts, sue him.

After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, Keith goes down the stairs, and he’s positive Dani and Marco are already up. The ridiculously, annoying, loud singing of Steven Universe’s theme song almost makes his ears bleed. He really hates loud noises, except when they’re coming from his speakers.

When Keith is closer to the source of the noise, he takes a glimpse of the whole picture, the cozy living room, the sun’s beams lighting up the rustic Mexican-style furniture. There’s a huge wooden TV stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by two bookshelves, all of them filled with DVDs and old VHS tapes, some pictures on frames and a bunch of photo albums with names on them: Julie, Andrés, Lance, Daniela, Marco… The sofas have colorful blankets strewn over them, clearly made by the various members of the family, matching with some of the equally colorful cushions. It is so damn cozy, Keith felt it in his bones, it is a beautiful, lived in _home_.

He then spots Dani swaying side to side with a cereal spoon on her mouth, the rest of her Fruity Pebbles bowl on the coffee table in front of the television, and Marco still singing with his mouth full, cuddled up in the corner of one sofa. Usually when kids are being this loud Keith hates it (who wouldn’t, honestly). He’s always been thankful he doesn’t have little siblings, but for some reason, the scene in front of him makes him feel warm inside.

“What are you staring at, Lance?” Dani says through a full mouth. She swallows and sniffles, wiping her runny nose with her pajamas’ long sleeve. Keith finds this gross and adorable in equal parts, what’s up with his brain?

“Uh,” Keith starts, fiddling with his bracelet like he always does when he’s nervous or doesn’t know what to say.

“ _Siéntate_ ,” Marco says, patting the spot next to him on the couch. “Steven Universe is just starting.”

“Um, okay. Coming,” he says quietly. He has no idea why he feels so intimidated by these kids. They seem super friendly at first but Keith has met the end of their sharp tongue and teasing jabs. He rubs his forehead, remembering the cursed shortcut. He thought he knew what he was doing, okay? He turns around and heads to the kitchen for a bowl and spoon, then shuffles back into the warm living room, settling down next to Marco on the sofa. He grabs the milk and pours it into the bowl, noticing Marco’s eyes following the motion. They have a dramatic staredown as Keith leaves the milk on the coffee table and pours the cereal after. None of them break eye contact. It’s so intense. The milk is splashing as the cereal falls into the bowl. Keith can’t blink.

“ _Qué pedo_ ,” Marco deadpans. Dani snorts next to him, milk coming out of her nostrils, eyes wide with alarm. It’s so fucking disgusting, so why the fuck is Keith’s heart melting at the sight. What’s happening to him?

“ _¡Abuela dijo que esas palabras no se dicen!_ ” she screeches.

“ _Me vale_ ,” Marco replies, sticking his tongue out at his sister and turning back to Keith. “ _El cereal va primero, tonto._ ”

Keith brings a spoonful to his mouth. “Are you saying I do things wrong?” he says, with the cereal still on his mouth.

Marco’s face is blank when he answers, “Yes,” firmly.

Keith pops the spoon out his mouth and leaves the cereal bowl and spoon on the coffee table in front of him, never breaking eye contact with the little shit next to him. It’s so tense. It’s so dramatic. “Are you sure about that?” Keith asks again.

“Yes,” Marco replies, the corners of his mouth twitching and breaking his poker face. Keith finds his own lips mirroring the young boy’s as he leans over and starts tickling Marco.

“Are you sure?” Keith says, holding the squirming shrieking boy in his arms. “Are you sure?”

“Stooop, Lance,” Marco screeches gleefully. The sound of Lance’s name coming from Marco’s mouth makes Keith’s heart clench a little. His grip on the boy softens, and he quickly steps out of Keith’s arm range. He doesn’t know why it hurts a little, the fact that they’re not really his siblings. They think this is Lance, and Keith suddenly feels like he’s intruding on a life that isn’t really his. It’s… uncomfortable.

“ _¿A qué se debe tanto ruido?_ ” Abuela’s warm voice comes from the doorway, half reprimanding and half fond. It cuts off Keith’s train of thought, and he and the twins turn to look at Abuela with guilty looks on their faces until Dani starts giggling. The sound of everyone’s laughter joining in with Dani’s fills up the colorful room in the beautiful morning. Abuela shakes her head lovingly. “Anyway,” she says, her mouth shaping the English word with a strong accent. “Lance, _te estoy esperando_.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith says. He stands up and grabs his cereal bowl, eating as he follows Abuela down the hall to a room in the house he hasn’t been in yet.

When he gets to the doorframe, he stops cold. When Abuela said _taller_ , he hadn’t expected this. He doesn’t know what he expected, honestly, the word had brought images of grease and car parts not _this_. But he also felt ridiculous thinking that Abuela owned a car garage. The room in front of him made more sense. It’s a big room, but it feels smaller because of all the clutter. There’s several tables, some of them are tall, some of them are tiny and kid sized, all of them with balls of wool and string hanging from their sides. There is something Keith recognizes as a sewing machine in the table by the corner, lots of baskets of yarn and finished and unfinished blankets and sweaters strewn all over the place. There are also some big machines Keith had never seen before in his life, complicated and big. They look a bit like desks, Keith guesses, but with different levels and levers and strings of wool pulled taut over them. What the hell.

Abuela scoffs. “ _Qué cochinero dejaron estos huercos_ ,” she starts, looking around the mess Keith guesses Dani and Marco left earlier. He can imagine Lance would not like this sight at all, judging from the state of his wardrobe. “ _Saca tu lista, pues._ ” Abuela says nonchalantly, swaying to the other side of the room. “ _A ver qué seguimos teniendo."_

What fucking list. Maybe it’s an inventory? Keith scrambles for a bit, leaving his half empty bowl of cereal over a semi-empty counter and pulls out his phone. Maybe Lance might have it here. He unlocks the iPhone and finds the Google Sheets app and a document there called _Inventory_. Awesome.

Keith and Abuela spend the next two hours or so picking up the mess on the tables, winding the wool and strings back into neat balls and stuffing them in their respective baskets, running through the list of things Lance has and checking off a few orders of sweaters Abuela had gotten from other people in the town. She sets them apart, wrapping them in cute, colorful paper and asks Keith to deliver them tomorrow, which makes him breathe a sigh of relief because he has no idea where Ms. Thompson or Mr. Álvarez live.

When it looks like every single chore has been made, Abuela sits in one of the desk-like machines. She heaves a big sigh, looking exhausted. It’s weird, Keith thinks, as he glances at Abuela looking so tiny and... old. She always seems like this sturdy, energetic presence, always active even though she takes thing slow. Only then, when she’s sitting there, Keith realizes how much the person in front of him has lived. He never met either of his grandparents, so this is… new to him.

He thinks they’re finally going to take a break, but Abuela straightens herself just then and pats the seat next to her, in front of a machine and Keith panics a little. Even though he feels like it’s not his place to be, he finds himself walking towards Abuela and sits down in front of the machine. Like all of the machines in the room, it has a lot of strings pulled taut over them, unfinished projects on them. Keith feels a little bit amazed, looking at the beautiful cloth in front of him. It’s a deep midnight blue, with an intricate flower pattern of a slightly darker shade of blue. The craftsmanship is incredible. Is it Abuela’s? Or… Lance’s? He runs his fingers over it, feeling the bumps of the pattern on the wool. It’s beautiful, really.

Abuela starts working next to him, and it hits him that she’s probably expecting him to do the same. Keith panics again, looking at the strings suspended in front of him. He can’t fucking do this, how is he supposed to continue working on this? He’s probably going to ruin it all.

The phone in his pocket rings, a cheerful tune from the generic iPhone ringtones startles him a little. He takes it out of the pocket of his jeans and the name Pidge is flashing through the screen. He remembers her, the little demon. He doesn’t know how Lance does this, hang out with so many quick witted people with sharp tongues to match. He braces himself before he answers the phone and puts it to his ear.

“Where the fuck are you, Flores,” a menacing voice comes through the speakers.

“Um, what?”  

Pidge lets out a deep sigh, “I know this project is boring as fuck, Lance, but we still have to do it. Don’t bail on me, you dickhead.”

“No no no,” Keith starts, “I was helping Abuela out and um, I forgot.”

Pidge scoffs. “Just get your ass over here already, Hunk and I’ve been waiting for an hour.” She sounds annoyed, but her voice changes all of the sudden. “Aw, but say hi to Abuela! Tell her I miss her cookies.” Her voice has turned high pitch and soft.

Keith rolls his eyes and puts his phone against his shoulder, turning to Abuela. “Pidge says hi, and that she misses your cookies,” he relays the message obediently.

“ _Ay, Katie, qué linda. Dile que venga. Mañana hago_ ,” Abuela replies with eyes that sparkle.

He delivers Abuela’s message back to Pidge. “So, um… Could you send me your location? So I can call an Uber?” he says afterwards.

Pidge laughs loudly through the phone. “HA what the fuck,” she says. “An Uber? Good one, Lance.”

Okay, so, Ubers are not a thing here. He should have known. He laughs nervously. “Ha ha… I got you, Pidge…” He feels so awkward and he wants to curse himself in Spanish. He needs to learn some good curse words. He makes a mental note to Google that later. “Okay but honestly, could I have your location?” he says hesitantly.

“Um, okay?” Pidge says. “You’ve been coming to my house for ten years, did you suddenly forget where it is or what?”

“Hm eengh um… Yes,” he admits. He doesn’t want a Shortcut Incident 2.0. Pidge still sounds confused but she agrees, and when Keith gets the location he pulls it up on Google Maps. He’s suddenly struck by how tiny this town is, Altea, California. He feels even more stupid over the Shortcut Incident now. But still, he says goodbye to Abuela and goes to the garage for his bike and heads to Pidge’s house. It’s only like 15 minutes away. He parks his bike in front of Pidge’s porch, next to Pidge’s and Hunk’s bikes and knocks the door.

After a couple of minutes, the door opens to reveal a very confused Pidge. “Why are you knocking? You know you can walk in, the door is always unlocked.”

“I, um…” Keith starts. Leaving the door unlocked? He thinks he’d die if he ever left the door unlocked in San Francisco.

“You’re acting weird again, Lance,” Pidge says without making a big deal of out if and turns around. Keith closes the door and follows her through the hallway, spotting framed pictures on the walls that look like Pidge’s family. There are baby and toddler pictures of two people that look almost the same. Does Pidge have a twin sibling or something?

When they arrive at the basement, Keith sees the couch in front of a TV with a bunch of different consoles’ controllers, a beautiful golden retriever napping on the carpet, a card table on the corner with Pidge’s laptop open on it and Hunk laying across the couch throwing and catching popcorn with his mouth.

“Hey, man!” he greets him with a smile, sitting up and offering Keith some popcorn. Keith freezes. How is he supposed to hang out with people he doesn’t know? They look like they’re so comfortable around Lance, but he’s Keith, and he doesn’t know how to fucking blend in. Keith tries to smile back at him and reaches to take a handful, even though he’s not that hungry. Hunk is being nice. He should be nice too.

“Lance?” Hunk says after a while, “You know you can also sit down, right?”

Oh. Right.

Keith starts moving to sit down on the couch next to Hunk, but Pidge catches him before he does that and with both hands on his back, she pushes Keith towards the table in the corner. The contact makes Keith uncomfortable, why is she touching him? God this feels so weird.

“Nope, nope,” she says. “No chilling. To the work table. To the work table.”

Hunk sighs and follows them to the corner of the room and they sit down around the tiny card table. Keith and Hunk take their laptops out and Pidge starts explaining them about the draft of the project they have to have ready for their next biology class on Tuesday.

“So I was thinking we should classify the plants and trees in the park next to school. I mean, if the whole point of the project is to do something that has to do with ecology, we can register these things we need to protect around the town.”

Hunk’s eyes light up. Keith is not amused. “I love that! Oooh, we could also label them on the park, so that people can know what kind of plants they’re looking at. That would be really cool.”

“Guys doesn’t that sound a little bit complicated?” Keith finds himself joining the conversation. The thought of spending so much time around nature bothers him. The sun, the bugs, the mosquitoes… He’s just not into that. “Why can’t we just do something related to global warming?”

Pidge and Hunk deadpan. “Um, I can assure you everyone is going to do that.” Pidge says crossing her arms.

“Yeah, and we have the opportunity to do something with an impact, y’know, helping the community and educating the kids,” Hunk adds with a grin. Keith sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s two against one, and Hunk looks genuinely excited, so he agrees. At least he won’t have to do all the work. Lance will do it. They spend the next hour drafting the project, and pizza arrives sometime along the way. Keith’s hungry stomach welcomes it.

Three pizza slices later, he sighs contentedly, the work already done. He stretches discreetly in his chair and Pidge suggests playing some Smash Bros.

“You just want to play because you always win,” Hunk groans in response, but Keith feels excited. Finally, something he feels confident about. He’s gotten really good at Smash, after so many hours spent at Shiro’s trying to beat his cousin and best friend.

So he follows Pidge to the couch, grabs the Nintendo’s controller and cracks his fingers in preparation. Pidge raises an eyebrow at him and his quiet determination as she sets up the game and picks Mario.

“Feeling lucky today, Lance?” Pidge says with a crooked smile.

“Yes,” Keith replies, picking Link and getting started.

The game is intense. Especially between Keith and Pidge. Keith thinks Lance has never given his friends much of a fight because suddenly, everyone is yelling. At some point, Hunk just lets go of the controller, admitting his defeat, and stares at the screen in awe.

Keith wins. And Pidge is pissed, but mostly shocked.

It’s the first time Keith has felt confident in all day, so he allows himself to stretch his arms up and smiles with victory at his new friends.

“How could you do that? You never beat me.” Pidge melts dramatically into the couch. “Tell me your secret, Flores, TELL ME,” She says after a while and picks herself back up.

“Was yesterday’s defeat so dreadful to you that you stayed up all night and played or something?” Hunk asks, genuinely concerned. Keith laughs at the scene because it’s ridiculous. I mean, how terrible can Lance be? He thinks he’d love to play against him someday, just so he can kick his ass.

“I say we never speak of this again.” Pidge crosses her arms, looking away from Keith.

“Come on, Pidge, give him some credit.” Hunk starts. “I mean, there was probably a time when you sucked too, alright?”

Pidge looks offended. “Negative. I crawled out of my mom’s uterus playing Smash Bros, okay?”

There’s a moment of silence before Hunk starts roaring with laughter, which eventually makes Pidge do the same, and then it spreads like a virus because all of the sudden, Keith is laughing too. He doesn’t know at what or who exactly, but somehow this gives him a familiar feeling. He remembers sleepless nights at Shiro’s, where all they did was eat crappy instant ramen and play under the covers until the first rays of sun pierced his cousin’s bedroom.

Between the sounds of the trio’s laugher, a voice chimes faintly from upstairs. Apparently, Pidge’s mom is going out and she’s leaving some cookies for them in the kitchen, so the three of them move upstairs.  

“Man, I can’t wait to play some serious Smash Bros tournaments when we’re in college,” Hunk says as soon as they’re in the kitchen. Keith stays by the door, leaning on the frame, as Hunk and Pidge move towards the table on the middle of the room.

“Oh, yeah, Matt told me they’re kind of a big deal.” Pidge says, taking a cookie. “That has got to be like, the coolest environment ever. It’s going to make me feel at home.”

Keith knows about the tournaments too, they’re a thing around most universities in San Francisco. Shiro’s always signing up for them.

“I wonder how long it’s going to take us to adapt,” Hunk starts, grabbing a cookie as well. “I mean, I can’t wait to get out of Altea, but I guess moving out makes me nervous.” He takes a bite of the cookie and looks mesmerized. “Mmm,” he hums and closes his eyes, “I don’t know how your mom makes these so amazing, Pidge, honestly.”

Pidge is eating too. She nods at Hunk. “We have to go to the same college, Hunk, because if you’re not there I’m probably going to starve to death.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know you’re just my friend because of my cooking skills.”

“That’s a lie, dumbass.”

Keith just watches Hunk and Pidge talk while they eat, both of them leaning on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Resting on their elbows, picking up a cookie after another. They look so in sync with each other, catching the other’s jabs and comments and returning them quick and in kind. It’s hypnotizing, if he’s being honest. He’s just not like this with his friends back home. Hanging out with Shiro and Allura is different from this. Although Allura has a silver tongue of her own, their conversations are usually quiet and slower than whatever this is. Saturday nights after closing, they just stay at Juniberries’ having a drink and talking about the patrons or school or the new food. It’s just… different.

“Lance, aren’t you going to grab one?” Pidge says, startling Keith out of his train of thought.

“Oh yeah. What’s in them?” he asks.

“Ummmmm… Peanut butter, you idiot.”

“Oh, no, I’m allergic to peanut butter,” he answers on instinct, not really noticing the clatter of the cookies on the table. “Besides I think I gotta go now, Abuela’s waiting for me.”

“What,” Hunk and Pidge say in unison.

Keith laughs nervously. “Hehe, what.”

“You don’t have to lie, if you don’t want cookies you can just say so, Lance,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. Oh shit, right. He’s Lance. Not Keith. And Lance is… probably not allergic to peanut butter… fuck.

“Even though not wanting these peanut butter cookies is, like, a sin. A mortal sin. But whatever, dude,” Hunk adds, sounding resentful.

“UH, UM, uh,” Keith starts stammering. He fucked up. He can’t keep himself from panicking. “I… uh… shit. I uh…” He starts backing off, tripping over his own feet and bumping on the door frame. “I gotta go, I’ll see you guys later.” And he runs. He runs down the stairs, picks up his stuff from the basement and takes the stairs back up two steps at a time before he leaves the house and hops on Lance’s bike.

What was he thinking? He was having such a good time he actually forgot he’s supposed to be Lance. Everything had felt… real. Insanely real. For a minute there he actually thought he belonged to this place, that Pidge and Hunk could be his best friends, that Abuela cared for him and was waiting for him back home… and his thoughts are getting too dark. He takes a deep breath, remembering what his old therapist had told him to do when this happens. Breathe in, breathe out, try to think of something else. He focuses on the trees around him as he pedals down the street.

Up, down, up, down. He lets his mind focus on the motion of the pedals. It’s soothing. He doesn’t really remember when was the last time he rode a bike before this weird thing started happening. Up, down, up, down. The pedals and the hills, the trees speeding past him, the cool mountain breeze envelops him. The houses are getting more scarce, and he knows he’s almost at Lance’s. Up, down, up, down. Stop.

He stops at the top of a small hill, a foot on the ground, the other on his bike. He doesn’t know why he felt compelled to stop, since the house is just a few feet away, but he’s glad he did. The sun’s beginning its slow descent, its rays filtering through the trees, bouncing off the lake Keith can see in the middle of the town. It takes his breath away, but in a good way. He feels his fingers twitching, aching to find a pen and a paper to write down a haiku about this beautiful sight. He wonders why he had never heard of this place before, Altea, California. It’s… beautiful.

“Lance!” a voice makes him turn around. Dani, Marco and Abuela are waving at him from the side of the house, next to the garage. From this angle, the Flores’ house looks like it’s growing from the mountain. It looks super cool to Keith. He grins as he steps off the bike and leads it to the rack in the garage and joins Abuela, Dani and Marco in the yard.

“Hey,” he says.

“About time!” Marco groans.

“ _Ten_ , Lance, _ponte los guantes_.” Abuela offers him a pair of dirty gloves, which Keith takes gladly, and smiles. So they’re doing some gardening.

Keith starts putting them on. “So,” he says.

“ _Toma_ ,” Dani says, picking up a flowerpot and handing it to Keith. He grabs the pot from the small girl and notices the pretty red and orange blooms on it. He’s never seen flowers like these before. They’re really beautiful, the petals are small and numerous. And he kind of wants to ask about them, but he’ll probably look stupid. He makes another mental note to Google it later.

“Make sure they’re at least 15 inches apart,” Abuela reminds them in Spanish as she moves her pot to the other side of the small garden. She gets on her knees and grabs a small shovel to create a hole in the ground. Keith follows her, and he can see that the soil is new and very fertile. He grabs another small shovel and does the same.

“ _¿Les he platicado la leyenda de las flores?_ ” Abuela asks, a tone of excitement in her voice. Dani and Marco roll their dark blue eyes simultaneously.

“ _Sí_ , Abuela,” Dani says.

“You literally tell it every year we do this,” Marco adds as he settles down next to Keith with his own flowerpot. The twins sound truly annoyed, but Keith wants to hear more. He takes a deep breath and decides to act.

“Don’t listen to them, Abuela,” Keith says, giving the twins a look with disapproval. “We want to hear it.” He smiles, feeling proud of himself for being straightforward and being true to his feelings.

“ _Ay, la iba a contar de todas maneras_ ,” Abuela says outraged. Keith can’t help but laugh a little bit to himself. His plan actually worked. Marco groans. “ _A ver,_ ” Abuela says. “If you know the story so well, tell it yourself.”

Marco clears his throat. “No, Abuelita, you tell it better,” he says. Keith guesses that was the right thing to say, since Abuela looks pleased. He bites his lip that’s threatening to twitch into a smile, as he digs his fingers into the dirt in the pot to take the plant out of it, being careful not to damage it.

“It tells the story of two lovers, the princess Xóchitl and the warrior Huitzilin,” Abuela starts in Spanish. “When they were young, they used to be friends, go on adventures and enjoy the surroundings of their town. So it was only natural that they’d fall in love with each other.

“Every afternoon they would go to the top of the mountain and take flowers to Tonatiuh, the Aztec Sun God, who would smile at them from up above. They swore eternal love to each other, even beyond death.

“When the war came, the lovers had to drift apart, and Huitzilin died in battle. Xóchitl decided to climb the mountain to ask Tonatiuh to bind them together with love. The God was so moved, he caressed the princess with one of his rays of sunlight, and made her a flower with intense colors, just like the sun,” Abuela pauses, sighs and strokes the petals of her flower softly before she picks the plant up from the pot to put it on the ground.

“A hummingbird stood in the center of the flower, it was Huitzilin incarnated as a beautiful bird!” Abuela beams softly, patting the soil around her freshly potted plant. “The flower instantly opened in 20 petals… that’s where the name comes from. _Cempohual_ means twenty in náhuatl. And _Xóchitl_ is flower. Cempasúchil. And from then on, the lovers would always be united while there are flowers of cempasuchil and hummingbirds.”

“That’s… really beautiful,” Keith says softly, sitting back on the balls of his feet. Abuela turns to look at him, her smile making her eyes crinkle up. It’s such a warm look, it makes Keith feel like he’s been hugged. It feels like magic.

“Pero Abuela,” Dani starts. “Why do people use it for altars _en el Día de Muertos_?”

Oh, so this is what these flowers are for. Keith thinks he’s heard of the Day of the Dead before at school, a few years ago, maybe. If his memory serves him right, it’s a very old Mexican tradition where they honor the dead.

“Because these flowers are magical,” Abuela states. “Their petals guide the dead to the altars we set up so they can reach the offerings we’ve made for them. Otherwise, they can’t cross to the world of the living.”

“That’s lame,” Marco says.

“ _A que no_ ,” Dani says on instinct.

“ _A que sí,_ ” Marco replies. “Being dead isn’t cool if you can’t be a ghost to haunt people.”

“You could haunt them _en el día de muertos,_ ” Keith suggests, which makes Marco stop his shoveling to look at him.

“ _Buen punto_ ,” Marco concedes. It makes Keith smile. “But still, it’s just one night, that’s lame.”

“You’re so annoying, Marco,” Dani says, and Marco sticks his tongue out at his sister.

It hits Keith again all of a sudden. This all feels so real. The soil under his fingers, the flowers, the golden sunset illuminating the backyard, the long shadows the sun casts over the trees. It feels so real and Keith doesn’t want this dream to end. Which is something he didn’t expect to think when he found himself in Lance’s body again this morning.

“ _¿Ya acabaron?_ ” Abuela asks and when everyone nods, she continues. _“Bien, mañana las regamos. Se está haciendo tarde, hay que hacer de cenar antes de que su papá llegue._ ”

They all head back inside after picking up all the gardening tools and stuffing them in the garage, along with their dirty gloves. Keith follows Abuela into the kitchen where they wash their hands and after Abuela asks Keith to help out, he stays while Dani and Marco go upstairs to shower.

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever actually prepared dinner. Back home, he usually just heats up some instant ramen, or sometimes Chef Alfor prepares something for the employees to take home, or he orders something on the rare occasions when his father comes home early and they have dinner on the couch watching _The Office_ reruns. This kitchen is so different from his own, so big and used and loved.

He follows Abuela’s instructions carefully, shredding some cheese for this thing called _molletes_ . Keith’s never had that before. Turns out it’s a bread Abuela calls _bolillo_ but they look like big hot dog buns, with some beans and melted cheese on top. It sounds nice and easy. Keith can see himself replicating the simple recipe back home, especially because it smells so good. And well, instant ramen is delicious but it can get boring after a while.

When Dani and Marco are back on the kitchen, the _molletes_ are already done. After the twins set up the table, the four of them sit down and begin to eat. This time it’s more quiet than before, but the lack of speaking is just as comfortable as the opposite. Keith revels in the silence, and marvels at how different it is from the quiet back in his home in San Francisco. He feels accompanied, safe, warm. It’s weird, but if Keith’s being honest, he likes it.

When they finish their dinner, everyone washes their own dirty dishes. Keith offers to wash Abuela’s.

“You should rest, Abuela, I got this,” he tells her with a smirk, feeling like doing something nice for the welcoming woman. She smiles at Keith, places a hand on his cheek and pats it fondly.

“ _Gracias_ , Lancito,” she tells him. Keith blinks. Lancito? “ _¡Buenas noches!_ ”

“ _Buenas noches,_ ” Keith replies. He watches Abuela leave the kitchen, and he shakes his head before he turns back to the sink. He hears the front door open, which makes him turn around again to see Lance’s father walk in. Keith hasn’t seen him before, but he’s a tall, lanky man-- like Lance-- with dark brown skin and tired brown eyes. Keith doesn’t know why, but the sight of the man immediately sets him on edge. There’s something about the way he carries himself that seems a bit… hostile. He’s kind of reminded of his own father, on the nights Keith knows he should watch his step, when his father comes home after a hard day at work.

“ _Hola, hijo_ ,” he half smiles at Keith in a husky voice, leaving his briefcase on the chair and loosening up his tie.

“Uh, hi,” Keith replies, shoulders tense. “We saved some _molletes_ for you.” He manages to smile a little bit, motioning to the food resting on top of the table.

“Ah, thank you.” Mr. Flores sits down and starts eating.

Keith turns back to the sink and folds the sleeves of Lance’s t-shirt up, then reaches for the faucet to turn the water on.

“What the hell are you wearing on your wrist, Lance,” he hears Lance’s father say in a cold, bitter tone.

“Huh?” he says quietly, turning to look at Lance’s wrists before turning the water on. And then he notices it. The bracelet he’s been fidgeting with all day is a bisexual pride flag. “What do you mean?” he responds after a couple of seconds.

“Why are you wearing that?”

“What’s the matter with what I’m wearing?” Keith bites back, feeling his blood start to turn hot. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re my son, it is my business,” Lance’s father replies coldly, averting his eyes from Lance. “I won’t have you wearing that… propaganda in my home. You know I don’t agree with it.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Propaganda? Is that what you really think it is?”

“Just do as I say, Lance.” Mr. Flores sounds tired, but honestly, Keith can feel his hands begin to shake in rage. He doesn’t reply though, scared of what might come out of his mouth if he does. His own dad may be a piece of work himself, but he never had to face something like this in his own home. His dad doesn’t give a shit if he’s gay. Silver linings, Keith thinks bitterly.

Keith turns off the faucet, dries his hands off and refuses to roll down his sleeves. This is fucking stupid.

“This is stupid,” Keith finds himself mumbling anyway.

“ _¿Qué dijiste?_ ” He hears Mr. Flores say, this time sounding pissed off.

“This is stupid,” Keith repeats, louder. “And I’m going to bed.”

And so he does, heading to the stairs and not looking back at the man sitting down on the kitchen table. He tries his best to ignore the angry shouting of Lance’s name and he slams the bedroom door shut behind him. He sighs, looking around the room. Two beds, one unslept in, a slightly cleaner desk and a wardrobe next to it, the stars on the ceiling. He finds himself gravitating towards the now slightly familiar desk, shaking fingers itching for the anchoring weight of a pen.

It had been a while since Keith got in an argument in regards to someone’s sexuality. He kind of forgot people like that existed, living in his own accepting bubble back at home. He thinks about Lance and the fact that he has to live like this. And like, he might not know a lot about Lance except how other people see him. He thinks of Pidge and Hunk and how Lance must be a good friend to them. He thinks of how Dani and Marco look at Lance, with eyes wide and full of love and admiration. He thinks of Abuela and her soft, kind gazes. Lance is a good guy. A good friend, a good brother, a good grandson. A good person. It’s so unfair.

Keith grabs the notebook he’d put away that morning and takes a pen from the pencil holder, then opens it on a random page.

**_I’m sorry about your dad. He sucks._ **

**_There’s nothing wrong with you._ **

**_You’re okay._ **

He makes sure to leave the notebook open, just in case this isn’t a dream after all. Maybe when the real Lance is back he’ll take a look at this and feel a little better. Keith would like to make him feel a little better.

He shuffles back to Lance’s bed after changing into pajamas, and stares at the glowing stars for a while. He gets that feeling again, the heaviness in his chest he can’t explain. Today felt so real. Sure, like stuff straight out of a dream or a fictional novel, but it was real enough to make him doubt about everything. Before he knows it, the room where he is starts to blur out and his eyes close.

 

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　　　　　　 　  ✫ ✫ .. *  
·  　　　　　　　 ˚   　　　　 ✫

 

Keith opens his eyes and finds himself in a familiar place. Star Trek posters, pictures stuck on the wall, yep, he’s back in his room. Keith rubs his eyes and finds himself sitting down on his bed. He examines his hands and then runs them through his head, this time finding enough hair on the back of his neck.

“I’m me,” he mumbles to himself. He looks around his room and what the hell, it’s a lot cleaner. The mess is gone, but he doesn’t remember organizing it before. And yesterday he definitely wasn't here. Could it really be…?

Keith shuffles out of bed, surprisingly not tripping over shit on the floor and he heads to the mirror. He scans himself in his reflection: violet eyes, black hair and… the name Lance Flores inked on his cheek. Why… his cheek? But he didn’t write that. He’s positive. But it’s proof that the owner of the name has been here. There’s no question about it, not anymore.

“Holy fuck. I’m trading places with someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿Qué haces en el piso? - What are you doing on the floor?  
> Dijiste que me ibas a ayudar, ¿te acuerdas? - You said you were helping me out, remember?  
> Sí, no, cómo estás - Yes, no, how are you  
> Ándale, cámbiate pues y te espero en el taller.Y recoge este cochinero. - Alright, get changed, I’ll be waiting for you in the workshop. And pick up this mess.  
> Qué pedo - The literal translation is “what fart”, but it’s a mexican slang for what the hell  
> ¡Abuela dijo que esas palabras no se dicen! - Grandma said those words can’t be spoken!  
> Me vale. El cereal va primero, tonto. - I don’t care. Cereal goes first, dummie.  
> ¿A qué se debe tanto ruido? (...) Lance, te estoy esperando. - What’s all these noise? (...) Lance, I’m waiting for you.  
> Qué cochinero dejaron estos huercos. Saca tu lista, pues. A ver qué seguimos teniendo. - These kids left a mess. Take out your list, then. Let’s see what we have left.  
> Ay, Katie, qué linda. Dile que venga. Mañana hago. - Ay, Katie, how nice. Tell her to come soon. I’ll make some tomorrow.  
> Ten, Lance, ponte los guantes. - Here, Lance, put the gloves on.  
> Toma - Here  
> ¿Les he platicado la leyenda de las flores? - Have I ever told you about the flower’s legend?  
> Ay, la iba a contar de todas maneras. A ver. - Ay, I was going to tell it anyway. Let’s see.  
> A que no. - That’s not true.  
> A que sí. - But it is.  
> On el día de muertos. - On the day of the dead.  
> Buen punto. - Good point.  
> ¿Ya acabaron? Bien, mañana las regamos. Se está haciendo tarde, hay que hacer de cenar antes de que su papá llegue. - Are you done? Good, we’ll water them tomorrow. It’s getting late and we gotta cook dinner before your father arrives.  
> Gracias, Lancito. ¡Buenas noches! - Thank you, Lancito. Good night!  
> Hola, hijo. - Hi, son.  
> ¿Qué dijiste? - What did you say?


	4. iv: interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as we enjoyed writing it! :D
> 
> few translations at the end! as always

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

Waking up, getting dressed in Star Wars merch, heading down for breakfast and riding alongside the twins to school. Keith thinks he’s got it down, he’s doing it, he’s got it under control. But every day something happens that throws him off once again and it’s a goddamn mess, how is he supposed to keep doing this?

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

The voice from his dreams plagues him every day as he wakes up. He thinks he sometimes hears it, hears someone calling for him but when he turns around, there’s no one there. He still doesn’t understand why it makes him sad, why he feels like he’s missing something, the last piece of the puzzle to figure this whole thing out.

Threads tangled up on his fingers, like his thoughts, like his feelings. How is he supposed to keep doing this? How can he figure out how to make this work?

“Um, Lance?” Keith says into the phone, the voice memos app open. They’ve worked this system out, leaving voice memos, notes and journal entries to keep each other updated on the happenings of their lives. It’s reduced the embarrassing moments 43%. It’s a good percentage, if you ask Keith. “I swear it was an accident. I don’t know how it happened. But your Darth Maul t-shirt is ruined. I kinda, sorta maybe burned it? Don’t ask me why. But honestly, the world is better off without it, buddy.”

Waking up with the words _FUCK YOU KEITH I LIKED THAT SHIRT_ on his arms is the natural consequence. Scrubbing Sharpie off is a bitch. Especially when he’s late for school and his phone is bursting with text messages from Lotor the Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

Late nights at Juniberries’, cleaning up tables and tiptoeing around Jordan and Shiro’s knowing looks. Late nights at the Flores’ household, washing dishes and tiptoeing around the strong presence of Lance’s father. He’s not getting enough sleep. He never gets enough sleep. He’s stressed. He’s always stressed. He’s stress eating peanut butter sandwiches, but only when he’s in Lance’s body. Fuck, he never realized what he was missing in his life before this. It’s so damn tragic.

When Lance wakes up in his own body and shuffles to the bathroom to take a piss, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He is horrified. There is a humongous pimple on his chin. This is the worst day of his life.

 _Listen here, Kogane_ , he writes angrily on the unofficial switching notebook they’d adopted. _You’re a fucking asshole. You’re ruining my life. There is a huge ass zit on my face and it is your fault. You’re eating too much peanut butter_ **_and_ ** _you’re not taking care of my skin. I’ve told you I need you to follow my nightly skincare routine. Don’t be an asshole. I feed Red every night you should at least be able to do this for me. Dickhead._

Long days spent at a preppy high school and working long hours at Juniberries’, trying to do Keith’s chemistry assignments because the guy’s useless at it and Lance can’t stand it, and buying venti caramel macchiatos every day because fuck this, he deserves it.

“Stop spending my money on overpriced coffee!” Lance hears Keith scream into the phone when he listens to the new voice memos on his phone.

“It’s technically _my_ money too, I’m working my ass off at your fucking restaurant. Don’t be like this,” Lance replies. “Also you work too much.”

“Fuck off, you spend too much,” Lance receives Keith’s reply the next day.

“Wah, wah, fucking crybaby,” Lance mutters to himself as he stuffs Keith’s phone into his backpack and heads to work. This is so irritating. He’s not cut out to be an assistant waiter. At least he’s not dropping drink orders as often. This has been reduced by a 60% and Lance is proud of himself for that.

Lance feels like this whole confusing, incredibly frustrating situation still has a silver lining, though. And he’s taking a bite off that silver sandwich.

 _Tonight_ , Lance writes on Keith’s journal, _under the light of the full lesbian moon, jordan the waiter has blessed me once more. He winked at me, with those beautiful long lashes and breathtaking brown eyes. Gay jesus, thank you for feeding me so good._

**_Stop writing ugly shit on this journal, Lance._ **

_Fuck you, Keith, my prose is a work of art._

Saturday mornings spent with Abuela trying to fix the mess Keith always leaves on his weaving project. It’s so annoying, sitting in front of the floor loom and instead of making progress like he’s supposed to do, Lance finds himself going back and remaking it. Fucking Keith. This project is important to him. He spends hours and hours perfecting the butterfly flower pattern, to make the best and most beautiful cloth for the altar they make for Mamá. It was her favorite flower, it reminded her of her home, Cuba. And Lance just wants to honor both parts of his heritage in this altar cloth.

 _If you don’t know how to weave then please don’t fucking touch my project_ , he writes in a post it to leave on his desk. _No offense but you suck_.

Lance comes home late at night at the Kogane’s apartment, beat from school, beat from work, and automatically heading for the bathroom to take a quick shower. He feels like he’s done this since forever. He stares at Keith’s reflection in the mirror, looking at the hair strands on the back of his neck, trying to figure out what kind of stylist was on board with giving him that cursed haircut.

“Uh, Keith, I’ve been meaning to ask you this since day one and…” Lance sighs into the voice memos app. “Honestly, man, a mullet? A fucking mullet? No wonder why Jordan hasn’t made a move yet.”

Keith, listening to Lance as he stares at himself in the mirror, touches the back of his head hesitantly. “It’s not a mullet,” he says to his reflection and to his phone. “I mean… I know it’s long but it’s not a mullet.” He sighs. “Don’t do anything to my hair or I swear to god, Lance…”

Keith proceeds to hide all available scissors in his apartment, then goes back into his room only to find a red leather jacket that wasn’t there before. He picks it up, pretty sure he didn’t buy it. It looks kinda retro, with a huge collar and white sleeves. There’s a post it note stuck to it with the messy handwriting he’s come to associate with Lance. _To match your retro hairstyle xoxo_

“Fucking--fuckkkkk,” Keith curses, feeling his cheeks heat up. He opens up the voice memos app and starts recording angrily. “Take it back, Lance. Take the fucking jacket back. Where’s the ticket? Stop spending my money, you know it’s for emergencies. Where’s the ticket?”

“Your clothes are an emergency,” Keith finds Lance replied the next morning. “Oh, also, I lost the ticket. Can’t return it. Besides, it suits you. Have you tried it on? Mhm, I told you so.”

When Keith tries the jacket on, all soft and warm and making him look like a total badass, he vows not to tell Lance he likes it. He refuses to give that _pendejo_ the satisfaction. Oh yeah, he knows Spanish curse words now. But he saves them just for Lance. Infuriating, frustrating, annoying Lance with the nice ass. Ugh, can his gay brain stop?

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

When he has nights off work, Keith spends them like he always has. Sitting in front of the TV in their ugly, lumpy couch, browsing Netflix for something new to watch. It’s quiet, and he used to love it. But now, sitting by his lonesome in the dark, feeling a bit cold, he finds himself missing the sound of children’s laughter and petty arguing. He… never thought he would feel like that.

When it’s Lance’s turn to spend the nights off, in the Kogane’s empty apartment in San Francisco, he tries to sleep. With the sounds of the city rushing and bustling outside his window, he finds himself missing the quiet sounds of the mountain at night, back home. He… never thought he would feel like that.

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✺ 　  　　 　 ✫ . ·  . ✹  
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After another long shift at the Juniberries’, Keith ends up hanging out with Shiro and Allura at the bar. Allura always buys Keith a drink, constantly making sure he tries different types of fancy wine they have at the restaurant. She’s adamant on making Keith a complete wine connoisseur, despite Shiro’s protests. It always goes down like this:

“How about a nice Shiraz this evening, Keith?” Allura suggests. Keith smiles leaning against the bar and nods.

“Culturize me, Miss James,” Keith says, slipping into his pretentious poet persona that always makes Allura smile.

“He’s eighteen,” Shiro always cuts in. Allura rolls her eyes as she slips behind the bar and hip checks Shiro out of her way. She grabs a few wine glasses and opens up a bottle, pouring it for the staff that decides to stay.

“What the law doesn’t know won’t hurt it,” Allura replies with a wink, taking a sip from her own wine glass and going on about the smoky flavor of this particular winery always adds to their products, and how good this particular harvest was. Shiro sighs and grabs the glass Allura hands to him reluctantly, but Keith knows that he’s just putting up a show. They chat a little bit about school, how Shiro’s been doing great in his last year of college and how much Allura is learning in culinary school. It’s always nice and comfortable, to spend time with his best friends like this. The slow conversations and steady pouring of wine make the knots on his muscles unwind, his breathing become easy and he forgets about his anxiety and worries for a while.

“You’ve been different lately, Keith,” Shiro says after he finishes his glass of wine.

It catches Keith a little bit off guard. “What do you mean?” he asks with ease, now that the wine has loosened his usually hard walls.

“Yeah, you know, more confident and relaxed. I haven’t seen you like this since before _oba_ Reiko _…_ ” Shiro trails off. The sound of his late mother’s name feels like a sobering rock being thrown into the pond and creating ripples all around. It’s always ripples upon ripples of sadness, but tonight things feel a little bit more subdued. Yeah, Keith guesses he’s been different lately.

Allura pours him and Shiro a fresh new glass of wine and Shiro takes a sip. “I’m just saying, you’re different. In a good way. You’re smiling more.” Shiro shoots him a warm smile. “I like that. I’m happy for you.”

Keith can’t help but smile back at his cousin. He remembers Sunday afternoons with Okaasan, driving to pick up Shiro from his home and heading straight for the arcade, where they would play until they ran out of tokens. Okaasan would always cheer for them, and sometimes rescue Keith when he wasn’t able to pass the Pac Man level, or something. Every outing with Okaasan was always an adventure, whether it was the arcade or the movies or their favorite bookstore near their apartment. He thinks that’s what he misses the most about his mother, alongside the safety of her arms and her voice as she read poetry to him at night, when he was trying to sleep. He thought, for the longest time, that he wouldn’t have any more fun adventures or be able to deal with his anxiety and the big wide world on his own.

But well, this whole switching bodies ordeal has taught him that adventure didn’t end with Okaasan’s death. Even though this one is confusing and frustrating, it’s an adventure nonetheless, and he thinks he’s finally embracing that. And he knows he’s not alone now, looking at Shiro’s kind smile and Allura’s sharp one, poised to make a teasing comment. Keith knows her so well.

“I wonder what’s different,” Allura says, eyes teasing, holding her wine glass and spinning it between her fingers. “Is it…” Keith sees her eyes flicker to his side. “Jordan!” she greets warmly, and Keith feels the tip of his ears turn red and hot. Allura’s shameless. Shameless.

“Hey, guys!” Jordan calls, joining them with a beautiful smile. He shoots it directly at Keith and Keith feels it pierce his wildly beating gay heart. Jordan is so beautiful? What the hell?

“Can I interest you in some Shiraz?” Allura says, showing off her half empty bottle of wine. “It’s a 1995, beautiful harvest, all the way from Washington state.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jordan says, sitting on the stool next to Keith.

“This Shiraz is a wonderful wine, you better appreciate it. I’ve been telling these two dorks here about the amazing smoky flavor that came from the--”

“Swear to god, Allura, you know too much about wine,” Keith mutters, nervously fidgeting with his bracelet, his comment making Jordan chuckle next to him.

“Hey, it’s my thing. I’m a wine lesbian. It’s in the job description,” Allura replies.

“Not everything is about being gay, Allura,” Shiro says, teasing.

“Shut up, Takashi,” Allura replies, pouring Jordan a glass for his own. “Everything is gay. Wine? Gay. The moon? Gay. Jesus? Probably gay. It’s not my fault you’re tragically heterosexual, and do not know about the joys of homosexuality.”

Jordan bursts into the most angelical laughter Keith has ever heard. It’s light, it’s bright, it’s a joy to hear. It makes the butterflies in his stomach wake the fuck up, and he’s pretty sure everyone in the room has them too. He sees how even Shiro’s face softens. Seriously, Jordan is just too beautiful even heterosexual men can’t resist his charms.

Keith all of a sudden wishes Lance were here. He thinks Lance would have appreciated Allura’s comment. From what he knows of Lance, he thinks he and Allura would get along well, and have probably been doing so the past few weeks since Allura hasn’t come to him screaming about something he did or said. Except that time Lance accidentally flirted with her. He still hasn’t lived that one down. Allura just won’t let him rest.

“So, Keith,” Jordan starts, bringing him back into the present. “How’s Lotor doing?”

Keith sputters and coughs, spilling some wine on the counter. Oh my god. Oh my god. He clears his throat, trying to recompose himself. That was so embarrassing, oh my god. Allura is giggling behind the counter. This is so embarrassing. “Um, uh, Lotor? What about him?”

“You know, the annoying lab partner with the luscious hair and the beautiful eyes,” Jordan says, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing at Keith’s wine mishap.

“Oh god,” he says, leaving his glass of wine on the counter and putting his head in his arms. Did Lance say that? Why did Lance say that?

Shiro starts giggling then. Giggling, actually giggling uncontrollably so. “Lotor,” he says between giggles. “Luscious hair, hahahhahh, what the fuck.”

“Are you actually drunk, right now,” Allura deadpans, giving Shiro a onceover look. She takes a look at his foggy eyes, happy and full of laughter, and the red, red blush on his cheeks making his old scar over his nose look super white and cute. Allura sighs. “Two glasses and you’re done for? God, Shiro, you’re literally the most lightweight bartender I have ever met.”

“Let me live,” Shiro says dramatically and Keith is grateful that the conversation got derailed. “Like the great poet William Shakespeare said once, a fool thinks himself to be wise but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

Allura’s sharp laughter breaks the stunned silence after Shiro’s dramatic quoting. “What does that have to do with anything?” she giggles.

“Listen, Allura,” Shiro says, leaning over the counter conspiratorially, beckoning her closer. Then, he continues with a theatrical tone, “We know what we are but not know--know not what we… may be….”

“Mhm, Shiro, mhm,” Allura says, nodding, shooting alarmed eyes at Keith. _Help me_ , they say, as she takes Shiro’s wine glass from his hands.

“William Shakespeare was a wise--a wise man, people,” Shiro declares with passion.

“Oh yes,” Jordan says, a mischievous smile adorning his sharp features. “It is because of Shakespeare that we are who we are today.”

Shiro’s jaw drops and he points his finger at Jordan. “Yes! Yes! You understand,” Shiro exclaims happily. “This man right here, he knows.”

“What does he know?” Allura asks.

“He knows,” Shiro says again. “He knows.”

“Yes,” Keith says, trying to participate in the conversation. “To be or not to be, that is the question.”

Shiro scrunches up his nose, looking at Keith with drunken disappointment written all over his face. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Shiro tells him.

“Then what are you talking about,” Keith asks.

“Let it go, man, the moment’s passed,” Jordan chimes in with a giggle.

“Your comedic timing is truly tragic,” Allura tells Keith.

“You know what?” Keith says, downing the rest of his glass of wine in a single gulp to Allura’s dismay. It’s getting late anyway. “I’m leaving. Come on, Shiro, I’ll take you home.”

“Come on, Keith,” Allura complains, tugging on his shirt’s sleeve. “We’re just joking.”

Keith smiles back at her softly. “I know,” he says. “But it’s late, and Shiro needs to get home.”

Shiro’s face falls. “Wha- Why? So soon?” he rambles.

“You have 9 a.m. class tomorrow,” Keith tells him. “ _Oba_ Izumi will not be happy and she’ll call me a bad influence.”

“You’re not a bad influence,” Shiro tells him, picking up his bag from behind the bar.

“Tell your mother that,” Keith replies.

“I’ll take him home, Keith,” Allura chimes in, picking up her bag as well and placing a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Allura says with a smile. “I’ve got a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon saved up for after work.”

“Looking forward to it,” Keith says, smiling.

“Ditto,” Jordan says.

When they step outside Juniberries’, Shiro and Allura head to the parking lot to Chef Alfor’s car while Jordan and Keith head to the bus stop. They’ve been doing that often, ever since Lance started inhabiting Keith’s body a few times a week. Keith doesn’t know how Lance does it, walking alongside Jordan and not tripping up for staring at the African American man too long to not notice the cracks on the sidewalk.

“Whoa, dude, you okay?” Jordan says, placing his hand on Keith’s chest to keep him from falling over. God, he hopes Jordan can’t feel his heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, a little breathlessly. Jordan shoots him a dazzling smile. He looks so beautiful under the streetlights, under the moonlight, Keith’s gay heart can barely take it.

“Good,” Jordan says, letting his hand fall from Keith’s chest, his features softening. “Watch where you’re going next time, yeah? We don’t want you falling on your pretty face.” He shoots that smile of his again, and keeps on walking forward.

Keith doesn’t have to look at his reflection to know his face has gone pink. This time, he feels the blush over his freckled cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his barely visible forehead; it’s everywhere. Keith feels like his face is catching fire, and its nice.

With the tips of his fingers over his cheek, he turns to look up at the sky. “Thank you, lesbian moon,” he founds himself saying out loud before he starts walking to catch up with Jordan. Keith thinks Lance would be proud.

.　　　　 . 　  　 　　　　 　　

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After finally opening and reading the first 15 pages of Slaughterhouse-Five, Lance thinks Keith would be proud. For the past few weeks, Keith has been nagging him about actually reading for his classes. But then again, Lance has been nagging Keith about chemistry, so he feels he can actually complain about it. But it’s still annoying. Keith promised there will be aliens in this book, so Lance is willing to give it a chance. And well, he hasn’t read much of it, but he thinks it’s okay so far. It’s just exhausting to read for long periods of time, okay, his ADHD makes it impossible for him to sit still for more than 30 minutes unless he feels actively engaged with the activity at hand. And like, reading doesn’t do it for him, okay. He’d rather be weaving or drawing, those are fun activities. But anyway.

He folds the edge of the page he stopped reading on and closes the book, tossing it to the coffee table in front of Pidge’s lumpy couch where he is currently sprawled upon, legs thrown over Hunk’s lap.

“I’m bored,” he announces. “Can’t we do something else?”

Hunk deadpans, his laptop on top of Lance’s legs. “We’ve been at it for twenty minutes, man.”

Pidge snorts from her spot next to the coffee table, legs crossed on the floor and laptop open. Her fingers typing away her essay at lightning speed. She doesn’t even look up from her screen as she replies to Lance. “You were the one that suggested this so you could actually get shit done,” she says.

“Ya know… _Let’s get together to work on our English essay_!” Hunk starts, making the high pitched voice he always adopts when he’s imitating Lance. “ _Since I’m so behind, you guys can do your own thing and you won’t even notice I’m there._ ”

Lance removes his legs from under Hunk’s laptop and kicks his thigh. “ _Cállate, wey,_ ” Lance says.

“ _Cállate, wey_ ,” Hunk mocks Lance in the same high pitched tone he used earlier. “Keep reading, man.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “We know you can’t concentrate on this shit by yourself, so at least let us work in peace.”

Lance groans. “Can’t you guys just tell me what the book is about?”

“No,” Hunk says.

“Can’t I get my laptop back?”

“I mean, you could get it back,” Pidge starts. “But like, I blocked SparkNotes on it anyway so you can’t get in without my password.”

“Uuuughhh,” Lance says. “I’m tired of reading. I’ve been told this book has aliens. Where’s the aliens, huh?” He picks up his book from the coffee table and waves it in front of Pidge’s face.

“You’ve literally read like ten pages,” Pidge says.

“Nuh-uh,” Lance says, pointing a finger at his friend. “Fif _teen_.”

Pidge just rolls her eyes in response. “Get to page fifty and I’ll ask my mom to make you some peanut butter sandwiches.”

Lance frowns and points at the zit on his chin that’s been there for the past three or four days and nothing he ever does makes it go away. It’s so fucking tragic. “Why are you offering me this, when _you know_?” he says miserably.

“You literally ate like 5 sandwiches yesterday,” Hunk says.

“Keith, that fucking bastard,” Lance mutters under his breath, covering his face with his hands. He can’t believe Keith. He specifically told him to stop eating a lot of peanut butter to avoid more tragedies. He can’t fucking listen, can he?

“Who is Keith?” Pidge asks.

“Huh?” Lance says, opening up his fingers so he could peak at Pidge.

“Keith,” Pidge repeats.

“Um, no one,” Lance says, straightening up in his seat.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Pidge says, finally looking up from her laptop and narrowing her eyes at Lance.

“Yeah,” Hunk says, nodding as he shuts his laptop and leans forward to look at Lance. “Super weird.”

“Uh,” Lance says, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s not necessarily bad, though,” Pidge says thoughtfully.

“You’ve been complaining less,” Hunk says. “Some days,” he feels the need to add.

Pidge nods. “You’ve been a bit more quiet, but like, more appreciative, I guess?” she says. “Some days.”

Some days, huh. Lance just shoots his friends a warm smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “I like it.”

“It’s like, you’re actually enjoying yourself in this town,” Hunk says, and Lance feels his heart squeeze. He guesses Hunk’s right, and it’s not just Keith on his body. Lately, Lance thinks he’s been appreciating Altea much more than usual. Before, all he wanted to do was run away, leave this place.

The town is still boring, if he’s being honest, but since he’s living in the city a few times a week he can’t help but notice the good things about Altea. It’s quiet, it’s nice. Everyone knows each other, which was something he used to hate. But when he’s in the city, he misses the warm smiles from his neighbors as he rides his bike to school every morning. He misses the chirping of the birds as he wakes up and the crickets when he goes to bed each night. So he’s grateful, now, whenever he gets to experience those. So yes, maybe there’s been an extra spring in his step as he walks through his school’s hallways, or a sparkle in his eye whenever he catches the sight of the lake in the middle of town, reflecting the pink clouds and bright orange sunset in its calm waters.

He never thought that this crazy experience, living in a different body, would make him happier. Yeah, there’s still some very frustrating moments, but… Lance is kinda glad that this is happening. He’s glad he’s gotten to know Shiro and Allura and Jordan. He’s glad that he gets to have that without actually leaving his home, his family, his best friends. He’s just… really glad.

“What we’re just trying to say,” Hunk continues. “We’re glad you’re happier.”

“Awww, guys!” Lance coos and he can’t keep his lips from twitching into a bright grin. He launches himself from his seat to wrap himself around Hunk in a huge hug. The big guy hugs him back gladly. Hunk’s always loved hugs.

“Alright, Lance, get off me, I need to keep writing,” Hunk says after a few seconds, to which Lance agrees reluctantly before he jumps off the couch and latches onto Pidge to give her the tightest hug.

“Laaaaaaance,” she moans, trying to push him off her.

“Accept my love, Katie,” Lance mumbles against her hair. He can practically feel her rolling her eyes even if he can’t see them.

“I love you too, dude,” Pidge says, but Lance can tell she’s trying really hard not to smile. After knowing her since they were in kindergarten, he just knows those things. He removes his limbs from the tight coils they’d become around Pidge and moves to sit back on the couch again. He grabs his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five and steals a highlighter from Pidge’s pencil bag. He tucks his socked feet under Hunk’s warm thighs and gets to reading again. He can do this.

As Lance pokes his tongue out in concentration, opening his book on the page he left off, he thinks Keith would be proud of him. And he wonders briefly why that thought makes him feel warm inside. But he puts that thought aside for another day.

 

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Waking up, getting dressed in his red and white leather jacket, grabbing a piece of toast and rushing to school. Keith Kogane is running late. Again. But he doesn’t care anymore, because every time he wakes up as himself after being Lance the day before, Keith feels like he just added ten more years to his life.

He steps outside his apartment complex, and takes the bus, slipping his earphones on. He opens up Spotify only to find a new playlist on his Recently Listened to on his library. Keith frowns, knowing it was obviously Lance, since the title says _GOOD MUSIC (not emo)_ . His curiosity gets the better of him, so he starts scrolling. _Hasta la Raíz_ by Natalia Lafourcade, _Taking Pictures of You_ by the Kooks, _Waterloo_ by ABBA, _I Really Like You_ by Carly Rae Jepsen, _Flashed Junk Mind_ by Milky Chance, _Love Me Harder_ by Ariana Grande, _She Changes the Weather,_ by Swim Deep, _Kiss You_ by One Direction. _Fireproof_ by One Direction is there, too. There’s like 70 songs total. When did Lance have the time to do this?

Keith snorts. This playlist is all over the place, but he presses shuffle play anyway. _The Longest Time_ by Billy Joel starts playing, and it makes Keith smile. He hasn’t heard this song in ages, it was one of Okaasan’s favorite to hum along to while dancing around the kitchen making dinner. His brain supplies an image of Lance clicking his fingers along to the song for some weird fucking reason. He thinks about Lance humming while he’s cleaning up the workshop and his siblings joining in. It makes Keith’s insides do an inexplicable flip. His stop is coming up. He shakes his head and gets off the bus.

Lance gets off the bus in San Francisco with his fingers holding onto a bunch of plastic bags filled with groceries. He swears to GOD he was going to die or something if he had to have another dinner consisting of instant fucking ramen. Why don’t the Koganes ever do proper grocery shopping? It’s a fucking mystery to Lance.

He storms in the apartment and quickly edrops all the bags on the counter. He shakes his hands, his fingers numb from carrying the stupid groceries all across San Francisco. Lance takes his time to recompose himself, then he cracks his fingers, puts the amazingly good playlist he made for Keith and himself a few weeks ago and starts waltzing around the kitchen, putting all the groceries in place. He cleans up and throws away all of the takeout cartons that were littering the counter, the instant ramen cups from the coffee table in front of the TV. He’s in his element, organizing the cereals he bought by color and making the fruit look pretty on the fruit bowl. God, he really is an artist.

He rushes to Keith’s room, mind alight with an idea, and grabs the post it’s they’ve been using to communicate. He takes a pen and starts jotting down instructions, trying to imitate Keith’s handwriting, to keep the kitchen neat and always stocked. He sticks a post it on the fridge, _reminder to check if the milk’s gone bad on sunday!_ Another one in the inside of the cupboards’ doors instructing to keep the mac and cheese and the instant ramen in a certain shelf and the cereals and spices on another. Because he’s sick and tired of never finding anything on this kitchen. He hopes the Koganes won’t mind his Extreme Makeover: Kitchen Edition. It’s all for a better cause, really. Lance would give everything to see Keith’s face when he walks into the kitchen tomorrow morning. He wonders if his jaw would drop, or if his brow would furrow in confusion. He hopes, most of all, that at least it’ll make him smile.

Slow Sunday mornings at the Flores’ household, where the sun is shining, where the birds are chirping and Keith wakes up with a newfound sense of peace. He doesn’t think that he’s felt… peaceful ever since this whole changing bodies situation started, even if the voice of his dreams keeps whispering in his ear. But it’s nice, Keith thinks, as nice as it can get.

The house is too quiet. Keith doesn’t think anyone is up yet, so he heads down to the kitchen and brews himself a cup of coffee before heading back to Lance’s room. He sits down on his favorite spot, on the soft seat next to the open window, next to the unslept bed. He likes this seat, it kinda remind him of the one Wendy has in Peter Pan. He doesn’t have much to do, so grabs the scribbled Slaughterhouse-Five copy and starts running through the pages, finding new notes Lance has written on the margins. Keith feels his lips twitch into a smile. He’s actually reading it. He feels kinda weirdly proud. He has the feeling that this is his impact, especially since he told Lance this book has aliens. He wonders if Lance ever grew annoyed by Vonnegut’s rambling on the first chapter, but it’s actually one of Keith’s favorite parts of the book.

 _Listen, Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time._  Keith reads, and laughs out loud at Lance’s question marks and scribbled _what the fuck does this mean_ next to the first passage. Keith keeps leafing through the pages, laughing at Lance’s commentary and he is aghast when he sees that Lance actually folds the page he left off on as a bookmark.

Lance is a filthy dog-earer. Keith will not stand for this. He stands up from his spot by the window and heads to the desk, grabbing some of the art supplies Lance keeps on it. He cuts out a long piece of watercolor paper and draws some ugly green alien heads on it with the inscription **_good aliens don’t fold/ pages like uncultured dicks/ they use bookmarks, wey_** **.** Honestly, this is one of his best improvised haikus, and he included a Mexican “insult”. He’s so talented.

He rushes downstairs, steals a bit of red thread, makes a hole in the bookmark he created and ties the bit of red yarn to it. Satisfied with his work, Keith unfolds the page Lance had so disrespectfully folded and places his bookmark masterpiece with a smile.

Lance rolls his eyes when he finds the ugly bookmark on his book, but he… feels a bit endeared. The aliens are so ugly and the caption is so stupid he actually lets out a chuckle. He grabs a pen and Lance decides to write back _leave the art to me, pendejo._ And he adds a tiny _good_ drawing of an alien in the corner, just to show that his doodles are actually superior to Keith’s. This is stupid. He knows he’s stupid, but he’s having fun. He never thought he’d be having fun with his weird pen-pal/Freaky Friday But Like Not Just Fridays partner. It’s… cool.

It’s late and Lance is sprawled on his bed with his laptop open in front of him. He’s trying to write his English essay, but Pidge still has Spark Notes blocked, the little demon, and Lance feels like his brain is fried. He’s getting to the point where he is no longer able to ignore his responsibilities. So he opens up a tab and goes on YouTube to procrastinate a bit longer. When the home page is loaded, the recommended section is filled with videos of an old white lady he had never seen before. The titles read _Weaving: Tips & Tricks for Hand Weaving on a Floor Loom. Fixing Errors & solutions to problems _ , and _Choosing Yarn for Weaving on a Floor Loom_ and _Parts of a Floor Loom, Weaving Tutorial for Beginners_ . Lance frowns and clicks on the last video, finding that it’s already been watched to its end. And it is a _one hour long_ video. What the fuck.

It clicks to him then that the only other person with access to his laptop is Keith. And that Keith’s been watching these videos, start to finish, about weaving and floor looms and tips and choosing the right kind of thread. It makes Lance’s heart skip a beat and squeeze. Keith is so… cute. What the fuck. He’s trying his best and he’s trying to learn to weave? That’s just… so cute.

Lance just feels so soft. He’s so endeared. He has never felt like this before. What is this? What is this?

What is this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  Pendejo - Asshole.  
> Oba - Aunt  
> Okaasan - Mom  
> Cállate, wey - shut up, dude.


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Juniberries' squad + Lance get up to some drunk shenanigans. Keith has to deal with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of weed, underage drinking and a bit of anxiety.

What is this?

When Keith came home that night after another shift at Juniberries’, he couldn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. So he picks up his journal, to maybe write something and make his mind quiet down. As he leafs through the pages, Lance’s messy handwriting catches his eye. He has told him, time and time again, to stop writing stuff on this journal. But now… Keith kinda looks forward to it after changing bodies. To see what Lance wrote. It makes him laugh sometimes now, instead of causing annoyance.

 _KEITH you bastard. the aliens aren’t real,_ Keith read Lance’s words again.

**_Which aliens? Like, there are aliens out there. What do you mean?_ **

_IN SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE. i read the stupid book. and the aliens arent real i cant believe you tricked me! i can’t trust you now._

**_Well, technically. They are real because they are real to Billy Pilgrim and it’s his story. They’re deeply tied to Billy’s philosophy and his view on time._ **

_but that was his PTSD. the time jumping too. it sucks i really wanted him to be time traveling._

**_Why?_ **

_BECAUSE TIME TRAVEL IS COOL._ (It was underlined ten times. It made Keith smile. But just a little.) _but i guess it could also be an inconvenience. or something. imagine, like in back to the future. i’d die if my mom flirted with me._

**_But think of the benefits, Lance. If you know something is gonna happen, you can save people’s lives. And you can have the opportunity to look at the past first-hand and learn from it._ **

_i doubt it’s gonna happen though. sounds... much magical. very wow. many impossible._

**_Please make an effort to update your memes, Lance. Also, do you really think that we’re in a position to deny the possibility of magic? I mean, look at us._ **

_fuck you keith doge is a classic,_ the latest entry said. _and it pains me to say this…. but you have a point._

 _do you ever get the feeling your life isn’t interesting enough for someone else to write about it? like, look at naruto. he has a demon sealed inside of him for god’s sake what the fuck. like. that’s interesting. but me? *harry potter voice* i mean, im just lance. and you? you’re just a gay disaster who lives in san francisco._ (Keith resents that.) _it’s so weird that this is happening to us, don’t you think? but it’s nice, maybe. i mean. it’s been an interesting experience, i guess. even if you keep changing the toilet paper to be under instead of over (i think youre a demon for that), you play with my siblings. and you watched the white old lady’s videos to learn about weaving. you take care of my room and help out abuela. dunno. thank you... it’s nice._

Keith slams shut his journal and throws it across the room. What is this?

His heart jumped a little there. It… made him feel… weird.

What is this?

He stands up, slips on his slippers and starts pacing in his room, tripping over his boots and other things he’d left strewn about. He curses himself for not deleting the browsing history on Lance’s laptop. He feels embarrassed about that for some reason. Why is a stranger making him feel this kind of weird? But… Is Lance a stranger? He knows his family, hangs out with his best friends. He knows the way Lance takes his coffee (too much sugar, in Keith’s opinion), that he likes drawing and spending time with his siblings. He knows how much he cares about his family, his traditions, his color coded wardrobe, even his underwear drawer. That’s… a lot of things to know about a person.

What is a stranger anyway? Keith always thought a stranger was someone you didn’t know, like, physically. But this makes him think about a lot of people in his classes that he’s spent a significant amount of time with and he still doesn’t _know_ anything about them, what they think about global warming, how they feel towards something in particular… He doesn’t know the names of their parents, or their favorite color, or where they live. But with Lance is different. He hasn’t met him in person, but Keith _knows_ him. He has _been_ him. Talk about a perfect empathy exercise. He is literally stepping into Lance’s shoes several times a week.

Feeling flustered and stressed, he somehow wandered into Walgreens, still in his slippers. His feet are dragging him to the beauty section, and his hands suddenly reach out to grab a familiar bottle of face wash, another of an exfoliator, and a pouch with a facemask he has seen before in Lance’s bathroom. He goes to the cashier on autopilot, paying more money than he expected and heads back to his apartment where his dad still isn’t home.

He’s still functioning automatically as he washes his face and applies the exfoliator, then goes to sit on his closed toilet to wait a few minutes before he can remove it. That’s when it hits him. He’s just so used to doing Lance’s nightly skincare routine that he somehow felt like he needed it to calm himself down. And he’s really surprised when it works. After he washes the exfoliator off he heads to his room and picks up his journal from the corner he’d launched it into before he sits on his bed. His heartbeat’s even now and his fingers are itching for a pen.

 **_Okay, “Just Lance”,_ ** Keith writes with a small smile. **_Listen, we may be ordinary people but that doesn’t like, disqualifies us from having adventures. And that doesn’t mean we’re nothing special either. I think the cool thing about this world is that we still don’t know everything about it. Yeah, a few months ago I would’ve said that something like this isn’t possible. Switching bodies. Makes me sound crazy. But I mean that’s also why I won’t shut the possibility of time travel, you know. Maybe somewhere else in the universe, magic and science fiction are the same thing. Who knows._ **

**_And Lance…_ ** Keith adds. **_You don’t have to thank me. It’s been a pleasure._ **

Okay so. Maybe Keith is a little bit glad he didn’t delete that browsing history, after all.

 

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The next time Keith wakes up back in his body, the dull ache of a wine induced hangover throbs behind his eyes. He is going to kill Lance for this one. He sits up on his bed, noticing he is still in last night’s clothes. He finds there is a glass of water and an aspirin on his nightstand and takes them both without thinking it twice. At least Lance had that decency. Next to the glass of water, there’s a post it with Lance’s handwriting, looking even messier than usual. He rips it off his nightstand and reads _check phone._

He unlocks his phone and finds the notes app is open. It had been written at four a.m. Keith is honestly a bit scared to read it, not wanting to know what Lance did last night in his body but at the same time… he needs to know.

_Kiff. Keth. Keithfj. I may have gottan a bit drink drunk. Allura had a very awsome melrou merlou. It was rly tasty.super nice. Make sure to tell her. But anyyaywy, um so. In my defense i wasnt hte only one drunk okay. Okay. liek. Shiro. I mean that dfude. Ofo nayways. Jordan too. And um. I dont kkjnow how is tt it happened._

Keith is terrified to keep scrolling. He literally feels his entire face grow hot. He keeps reading anyway.

_Jordan and i. You. us?????’ are going on a date. Fuck. like. Im telling you idk how ist happened okay. Um halloween party. We bought costums last night. Idk how liek we found a store that was open???? Also dont worry he aoffred to pay for them so like. No money was wasted. Donmst worry. But its in the desk. And like. He s picking me. U.., us up at 7 bc we decided to go to this anime restaursinxg he told me about. Sounds good so i sayd yes. Be ready dont fuck this up man honslty. Xoxo lancey lance._

In a bout of desperation, Keith throws his phone across the room. And then immediately scrambles to pick it up and opens the photos app. He has never been so embarrassed. Blurry selfie after blurry selfie. At the beginning, there were some with Allura looking wasted as hell and a picture of Shiro dozing on a stool at the bar in Juniberries’. Keith notices it’s a live picture, so when he clicks it he hears his own laughter and Shiro’s snores.

There’s a video next, of all of them in an Uber laughing at something Allura was saying but Keith couldn’t even make it out over the laughter. Keith thinks he could hear himself snort in a very unflattering way, which suddenly gives way to Jordan’s melodious laughter in response.

There’s another video after that, and Keith. Oh my god. Keith feels his blood pressure go up when he sees himself doing a catwalk in a Naruto costume. The jumpsuit, the headband and all. He even had Naruto’s whiskers drawn on in what looks like Allura’s brown lip gloss. Over the speakers, Keith can hear Allura screaming “Yaaaas queeen!” and Jordan slurring “You’re doing _amazing_ sweetie.”

Keith watches as Lance as himself stops in front of the camera and puts his hand over his chin, thinking. “Keith is more of a Sasuke, don’t you think?” he says thoughtfully which makes Allura erupt into laughter.

“Stop speaking in third person,” Allura screeches between giggles. “It was only funny the first two times.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance as Keith says, putting his hands on his hips. He starts strutting towards the camera and that’s where the video cuts off. Then there are pictures of him and Allura in slutty maid costumes, some of Jordan dressed as a hot nurse. Keith can’t do this anymore. He’d never tell this to anyone, but he kinda wishes he’d been there despite the embarrassment he feels.

He stands up from his bed and heads to the desk where he finds a bag. He closes his eyes as he opens it, and is only brave enough to peek through one eye at the contents of the bag. It’s a blue, long sleeved shirt that has the Enterprise’s logo on it. Oh my god. He finds two plastic pointy ears in the bottom of the bag. Oh my god. He’s Spock. There’s also a post it glued to the side of the bag saying _wear black pants and take an umbrella! i heard it’s going to rain._

Keith frowns, looking out his window and seeing the clear blue sky with the afternoon sun. That’s… weird. He dismisses it as Lance’s drunken rambling and sighs. That’s when the buzzer rings and Keith checks the time on instinct. He’s relieved to find it’s not seven p.m. yet, but he still goes to answer.

“Hello? Keith, it’s Allura!” he hears through the speaker. He frowns again but opens the door for her anyway. He hears the buzzing of the machine letting Allura into his building, and a few minutes later, Allura is knocking on his door.

She’s standing in his doorway with her makeup bag in one hand and a late lunch on the other. She’s wearing a bright smile as she lets herself in and heads to the lumpy couch in the middle of the living room.

“Helloooo,” she says in a sing song voice. “How’s the hangover?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I brought some Japanese food. Shiro told me you liked ramen so I made some. Also, this is a very nice place! Clean! Cozy.”

“Um,” Keith stutters, utterly confused but touched anyway. “Thanks?”

She looks him up and down and frowns a little. “Go take a shower and get dressed on the Enterprise shirt. I’ll heat the ramen up.”

Keith follows Allura’s instructions and heads to his shower, stripping off last night’s clothes and stepping into the warm spray. Bewildered, he thinks about the last time he dressed up for Halloween. It was his freshman year, and Shiro dragged him to a Halloween party because he wanted someone to dress up as Simon in Gurren Lagann so he could be Kamina and not look completely ridiculous. It had been fun, honestly. Shiro’s friends have always been nice to him and they played video games after they got bored of “partying”. He doesn’t mind dressing up for Halloween, but it’s not something he’s particularly interested in. He’s glad that Lance at least showed some good taste in picking his costume. He had actually felt a bit nervous when he saw the bag containing his costume, afraid it was gonna be Naruto’s jumpsuit. He has left his weeb days behind, okay.

He towels himself off after he’s done and gets dressed in his Spock costume. He turns to face the mirror and stares at himself, dark bags under his tired half moon eyes, and that’s when he starts feeling nervous and a bit self conscious. He’s clearly not looking his best, even if his skin has started to look better since he began taking care of it, and this is the first date he’s ever had. And it’s Jordan. Jordan the waiter with the nice smile and deep brown eyes. Keith feels his insides do a weird twist when he thinks about it too hard. So he just combs his hair back, trying to style it in a way that looks a little bit Spock-like, and then heads to the living room where Allura has already set two bowls of ramen on the coffee table.

She wolf whistles as soon as Keith walks in, which makes his cheeks heat up.

“Looking fine, Mr. Spock,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Come sit down so I can help you glue your ears on and do something about those dark circles under your eyes.”

Keith smiles at his friend and finds himself feeling grateful that he’s got her to help him out. Tonight’s actually looking brighter because of Allura, and he thinks it might actually… go really well, maybe.

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Lance is pedalling. Up down, up down. The pedals, the hills, the sun peeking through the rain clouds and shining on the lake. It’s quiet, except for the squeaks of their raincoats and Pidge and Hunk’s chattering as they ride their bikes beside Lance. They’re all heading towards Pidge’s as they do most Friday afternoons.

Up down, up down, with a smile on his face as he thinks back to last night. The night he spent with Allura and Jordan, after they’d dropped Shiro off. It had been so much fun. A bit blurry by the end, but fun anyway. He thinks of Jordan and his curly hair and the way dimples form on his cheeks when he smiles, and Lance sighs.

“Aw, I kinda wish I’d gotten to go to that date,” he says out loud to himself.

“What?” Hunk says, frowning as he looks at Lance.

“Oh,” Lance says. “Nothing.”

They keep pedalling along, and Lance finds himself dwelling on the things that happened last night. Allura’s laughter, Jordan’s pretty eyes, the catwalks and endless costumes they tried on. Even though he was wasted as hell, Lance remembers trying on the Enterprise shirt and looking at himself as Keith in the mirror, thinking how pretty he looked with his hooded eyes and full lips, thinking he made a hot Spock. He didn’t get to Zachary Quinto’s level, but… still hot.

Lance wonders how Keith’s dealing with the hungover. He wonders if Allura’s doing his makeup already. He wonders how Keith’s face will look when he sees that Jordan is dressed up as Captain Kirk. He wonders if the anime restaurant’s food is actually good. His mind seems to be going in circles. He wonders, and keeps wondering, and wonders some more. He puts his feet down on the pavement, skidding to an abrupt stop that makes their friends slow down in front of him and turn to him with puzzled looks on their faces.

“I need to go to San Francisco,” he says, looking at his squeaky Converse on the ground. Yes. This is what he’s supposed to do. He just feels it.

“We know,” Pidge says, frowning. “You said you wanted to go to college there.”

“No, I mean now,” Lance says, looking up at his friends then, who look more confused than ever.

“What for?” Hunk asks.

“A date,” Lance says, shooting them a smile.

“A date? You got a secret boyfriend in San Francisco and you didn’t tell us?” Pidge says, sounding offended.

“No! It’s not my date,” Lance explains, turning his bike around. “I’ll see you guys later! I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Wait, Lance, what will your dad say?” Hunk says.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fuck that,” he mutters. “I have to go now!” he calls out to his friends and starts pedalling his way to the bus station. He hopes he has enough money on his wallet.

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Keith is pacing on his living room. Back and forth, back and forth. He never thought a date would make him this nervous. Is it the date, though? Or is it something else?  

Allura had done his makeup, glued on his Vulcan ears and fed him (she absolutely ruined instant ramen for him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to eat that after that ramen she cooked up). She left for Juniberries’ cause she didn’t have the night off and now Keith’s just waiting. Waiting for Jordan to show up. Or something.

He paces back to the bathroom, not entirely sure why, but he takes a look at himself in the mirror for what it feels like the thousandth time. Keith had never been particularly picky on his looks, but he feels the sudden urge to check if he looks okay. And Allura had done wonders on his face. She’d made the dark circles under his eyes disappear and she’d done his eyebrows to look like Spock’s and he thinks he looks fine. He looks fine.

Even though he’s been waiting for the buzzer, it still startles him when it sounds.

“Ohhh my god--” he starts nervously, checks himself in the mirror once more and runs his hands through his hair before he runs to the door. He grabs his wallet and phone before he leaves. He remembers the note Lance had left, saying that it’s going to rain, and eyes the red umbrella that’s standing next to the door. He remembers the cloudless sky and shakes his head, shutting his apartment door behind him and rushes down the stairs to the lobby of his building where Jordan is waiting and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Keith stops cold when he sees him. Jordan looks so fucking _good_ it takes Keith’s breath away. Tight black pants, some dress shoes, the yellow Enterprise shirt that contrasts so nicely with his dark skin, looking every bit as attractive as Kirk is. Jordan had combed his curls to the side, looking wavier than usual in a mimicry of Captain Kirk’s iconic hairstyle.

When Keith finally starts moving, Jordan is smiling. And when he takes a look at Keith, he wolf whistles. Keith feels like his brain has short circuited.

“Lookin’ good, Mr. Spock,” Jordan says with a wink. Keith.exe has stopped responding.

He tries to wave back at him, but when he raises his hand, the only thing he manages to do is put his palm forward, extend his thumb, and part his fingers into the Vulcan salute. _What a complete fucking nerd, Kogane_ , he somehow hears Lance’s voice ring in his mind.

Jordan bursts out laughing and starts walking towards Keith, and meets him in the middle of the lobby. Keith is freaking out with his palm still raised in front of him. What should he do? This is a date, right? Should he extend his hand? Should he move in for a hug?

Jordan moves in first, wrapping his arms around Keith in a warm hug. But for some reason, Keith feels awkward and pats Jordan’s back twice before he pulls away. He’s too nervous for this.

“You ready to go?” Jordan says with a bright smile softening his face.

“Yeah,” Keith says breathlessly and nods. They start walking towards the door, and Keith opens it for Jordan and they both step into the sidewalk.

“Listen, uh, I think last night…” Jordan starts, and Keith panics again. “We said we were going to the anime restaurant but, I’m not actually hungry.” Jordan shoots Keith a nervous, tight lipped smile. “Is it okay if we skip dinner?”

“Uh yeah!” Keith replies, noticing Jordan’s nervous demeanor and feeling less self conscious about his own anxiety over this. “I’m actually not hungry either, um, Allura came over to, y’know,” Keith says, gesturing towards his face and Vulcan ears. “She brought a late lunch too.”

“Oh, nice,” Jordan says, smile relaxing. “Do you maybe want to have a cup of coffee instead. We still have time to kill before Acxa’s party.”

“Sure!” Keith says. “Um, where do you wanna go? There’s a Starbucks somewhere down the street.”

“Actually, you know what, we can just walk around and find something near Acxa’s,” Jordan suggests.

“Alright,” Keith replies quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and starting down the street, Jordan right beside him.

They walk around and eventually find a hipster coffee shop a few blocks away from Acxa’s house. Jordan offers to buy Keith’s coffee, and Keith complains because he knows Jordan bought the matching costumes, but he eventually relents and lets Jordan treat him. They sit down on a table by the corner and talk. They talk a lot. They talk about everything. Conversation flows easily, since Jordan is such a nice guy and they do have a lot of things in common. Jordan actually watched the original Star Trek series, so Keith gives him brownie points for that. He’s actually a bit impressed, since most people just watched the movies with Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto and like, they’re not that good. Keith is glad they both agree on that point.

They talk about Jordan’s classes, how he’s doing a major in advertising at USFCA, and he asks about Keith’s plans for college next year. They catch up on the latest Juniberries’ gossip and about their previous Halloween experiences. It’s nice. It’s okay, but… like, Keith can’t quite put his finger on it. Because it’s nice, it’s good, it’s perfect. But there’s just… something.

 

*. . 　　  
.  .　 ✫  ˚ .   
　 . ·  　　 ✹ 　　　　　　　　　 .   
˚  　 　 　 　  　 　   
　　　　　  ˚ . * 　 .  ·　   
　   ˚ · 　　　. ✵   
　  ✦ ˚

 

Lance steps out of the bus at the Greyhound station in San Francisco. Tiny droplets of rain fall on his face and pool on his raincoat’s shoulders. He looks up at the sky with a wide smile, feeling the rain on his skin. He’s in San Francisco. He’s in fucking San Francisco, in his own body this time. Around him, people are walking, going places, seeing people and Lance is suddenly frozen.

“What the fuck am I doing here,” he says to himself nervously. “What the _fuck_ am I doing here.”

He walks through the station and out into the street, feeling overwhelmed. He came here with no plan, no idea of what he was supposed to do now that he’s here. He feels stupid, he’s so stupid. Why did he just take a random bus to this city? He also ran out of money on his two way ticket. This is so impulsive. So unlike him. He feels his fingers start to shake in nervousness but he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Okay, okay,” he keeps talking to himself. “What would Keith do?” And he’s suddenly struck with the best idea.

He takes out his phone to type the anime restaurant’s address, where he and Jordan said they were going for dinner at, but then it hits him. He doesn’t know what anime restaurant Keith is at. Fuck. Okay, this is the 21st century, how hard can it be to find it? And also, he guesses that there are probably not a lot of anime themed restaurants in this city, like. It’s a ridiculous concept, right? There has to be like two, tops. But he’s surprised when he opens up Google and finds over thirty results.

“Fuck,” Lance says again. He guesses he’s going on a quest. This is nice. This is okay. “I can do this.” And so Lance lets his feet drag him into Japantown. He feels like that’s the right place to start his search.

What will Keith think when he sees him? Hell, what will _he_ do when he sees Keith? What is he supposed to say? Like, _oh hey Keith um I randomly got into a bus to see you_ ? That sounds insane. He’s crazy. Why did he do this? Will Keith _know_ it’s him? I mean, he has to. They’ve been spending countless hours on each other’s bodies. He _should_ be able to recognize him, right?

When he finally arrives at Japantown, he doesn’t even stop to take in the view of the small district. He’s too nervous for that. He just walks through the plaza, through the Restaurant Row in the West Mall, peeking through the windows to see if he spots the familiar mullet somewhere but with no such luck. Google suggests other places to go, so he does that. He just walks and walks and walks, peeking into restaurants, annoying some patrons, feeling blisters start forming on the back of his Converse shoes. But he keeps walking. Because he is a man on a mission. And he will find Keith. He _will_.

 

\+  ˚ 　 ⊹ 　　　　　　　       
.  ˚ ·      
　 　.   
✵   · 　  ·   
.　　 · . . 　 *  * 　   
  ˚   ˚ . ·

 

When Keith and Jordan get to Acxa’s house, the party is already in full swing. There’s loud pop music playing from somewhere in the living room, and there are people everywhere, drinking, laughing, talking, the works. Acxa greets them from the kitchen as soon as she spots them walking by.

“Keith! Jordan! So glad you could make it!” she exclaims with a huge grin on her face, eyes already foggy under the influence of alcohol.

“Oooh, Firelord Azula,” Jordan says smoothly, wrapping his arms around the Juniberries’ hostess in a warm hug. “Thank you for inviting us to your palace,” he continues with a wink.

Acxa giggles. “Ezor is out there somewhere as Ty Lee and Narti, too, as Mai,” she explains excitedly. “Finally talked them into this.”

She gives Keith a hug of his own and then she starts explaining where the drinks are, where the music is, that her backyard is pretty empty and she wants people to hang out there instead of inside the house. So Keith and Jordan grab their drinks and head to the backyard, which is indeed mostly empty except for a few people in the corner passing a joint around and a few guys sitting around a table playing a drinking game.

“Sooo, Mr. Spock,” Jordan starts softly with a smile. “Do you want to join?” he gestures to the people on the table trying to put a ping pong ball inside of several plastic cups and passing them around.

“Uh,” Keith replies, unsure of what the game is all about. He think he’s seen it somewhere, but to be honest, he doesn’t know much about drinking games in general. He’s not a party person, but Jordan seems excited about it and Keith feels a bit pressured to agree. Like, he’s on a date with him, right? He should go along with Jordan’s plans for the night, right? He kind of feels like that’s what he’s supposed to do. “Sure, but like, I’ve never played that or anything.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Jordan tells him and starts explaining the mechanics of the game before they join the people at the table. Keith recognizes some of them from school and the restaurant. There’s Zethrid dressed up as Harley Quinn, screaming at the person next to her to go faster as they’re trying to get their ping pong ball inside the cup in front of them.

Jordan moves from Keith’s side and bumps his fist with a few of the guys around the table and then gestures for Keith to join him. So Keith squeezes between Jordan and a random dude and they start playing.

Keith would never thought a game like this would cause him so much stress. The game starts and all of the sudden people are yelling and laughing and passing around cups with Jaeger and Boost. Keith misses his shots so often, and he is given a lot of cups of the Mix of Death to drink and he gets even worse after that. Jordan doesn’t seem to mind, though, he just laughs every time Keith shoots, fails, shoots and repeats. He’s pretty good at this, it makes Keith wonder how many times must one play to master this Stack the Cup nonsense. He finally begs off when he feels his vision start to blur at the edges, taking a few steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, and observing the game since Jordan still wants to play.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but suddenly there’s someone next to him. It takes Keith a few seconds to realize this person is talking to him, and when he turns to the person, he sees Lotor dressed up as Legolas. His sharp features are perfect for an elf, his dark skin looking like it’s shimmering in the dark and his honey colored hair is braided so beautifully and falling on his shoulders so nicely. Keith is actually shocked. His hair _is_ luscious.

“How drunk are you, Kogane?” Lotor asks him with a frown. He seems a bit concerned, but Keith feels like that’s impossible, considering his history with Lotor the Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji. Maybe it’s his drunk addled mind making things up. But he’s actually been nicer to Keith ever since he started doing the chemistry homework and doing better at lab.

“Uhh,” Keith says, making the so and so gesture with his hand. Lotor bursts out in laughter. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever heard him laugh before, given the fact that Lotor spends more time yelling at him than actually talking. But it’s a nice laugh, it’s contagious. Suddenly Keith is giggling with Lotor, compliments him on his homemade bow and arrow and eventually they start talking about Lord of the Rings.

“How can you _say_ Frodo _is_ the best character?” Keith slurs, a new drink in his hand, courtesy of Lotor.

“Bearing the Ring is an enormous challenge and quest. It took a lot of Frodo to not be swayed by Sauron,” Lotor exclaims with passion. “The Hobbit is the true hero of the story. His morale is admirable.”

“You know who never gets enough credit? SAM. Samwise Gamgee had to literally carry Frodo on his back all the way to Mount Doom. Even after Frodo left him _behind_ , made him _cry_ and carried on with Gollum. Even then! _He came back_!” Keith claps his hands to those last three words. “Like, fuck dude, that’s dedication,” Keith argues.

Lotor is shaking his head. “Yes, okay, he was a strong character, but he wouldn’t have been able to bear the Ring,” Lotor continues.

Keith opens his mouth to say something back, before Lotor interrupts him. “ _Listen,_ Keith. _He wouldn’t have been able to bear the Ring._ ”

“Yooo,” Keith hears Jordan’s voice from behind him and feels an arm wrap around his neck. “How’s my date doiiiing?” Jordan asks in a sing song voice, sounding a bit drunk. Keith can smell the alcohol in his breath, and well, he feels a bit better about being drunk himself. In front of him, Lotor raises a perfect eyebrow with a teasing look on his eye.

“This dude over here thinks that Frodo is the best character on Lord of the Rings,” Keith informs Jordan, crossing his arms over his chest. Jordan laughs and steps aside, unfolding the arm he had around Keith and walks towards Lotor.

“You, my man, Legolas,” Jordan starts. “You have your head in the right place.”

“What!” Keith screeches.

Lotor smiles and flips his hair. “I know,” he says. “So do you, Captain.”

“You guys are teaming up against me!” Keith exclaims.

“The name’s Jordan,” Jordan says, extending his hand towards Lotor. The other guy takes it and gives it a firm shake.

“Lotor,” Lotor says, and Jordan’s jaw promptly drops.

“Lotor!?” he says, looking back and forth from Keith to Lotor. “Lotor with the luscious hair!”

“Oh no,” Keith groans, feeling his cheeks heat up. Fucking Lance.

“He really has luscious hair!” Jordan keeps going, gesturing towards Lotor’s honey colored braids. Keith’s classmate’s cheeks start tinging with pink as he takes a few strands of hair in his hands self consciously.

“Um, thank you?” Lotor says, looking at Keith quizzically.

“Yeah man, what hair products do you use?” Jordan asks, swooping in to take a closer look. “It looks so soft and shiny! How do you do that?”

“I’ll tell you my secret,” Lotor says conspiratorially, motioning for Jordan to come closer. “It’s coconut oil,” he whispers and Jordan’s eyes go wide and he nods.

“I’ve heard about that,” Jordan says.

“Yeah,” Lotor says. “It’s magical, man.”

The three of them start talking about hair products and eventually they move on to other topics of conversation. They go for more drinks, the three of them hitting it off as a group, which is surprising to Keith. He feels funny, weird for some reason, having never thought that he would be hanging out with Lotor like this and on a date with Jordan the beautiful waiter. He’s having fun, but, there’s something missing. He still can’t put his finger on it. He tries to push it aside and keep on having a nice time. He doesn’t succeed.

 

✵  ✫ *  　 　　 　　　 　  
 　 　  　　   
✵                  ✫ ✷ * ⊹ 　 　 ·

 ✵                   *   
✵   * ✵ 　 .  ✧　　　　   
˚ 　　　 ✵ 　 ✦ 　　  　 ·

 

Lance sits on a bench somewhere in San Francisco’s Financial District. The rain is coming down heavily and his Converse are getting soaked through. It’s getting late and it seems like his luck is running out. After visiting twenty anime themed restaurants, Keith is nowhere to be found.

Lance puts his head between his hands, feeling defeated. Somewhere, in the middle of his search, he’d remembered that Keith had put in his phone number for emergencies. And Lance had tried to call, but the calls never got through. He sighs, running his hand through his wet curls and decides to stand up. He guesses he’s calling it a night soon.

He starts wandering around, his feet taking him through familiar streets until he finds himself in front of Juniberries’. He doesn’t know why he came here, but he’s here. He bites his lip and looks through the glass walls inside the restaurant, spotting Shiro at the bar and a few of Keith’s coworkers bustling around. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but the door to the restaurant opens up beside him and someone steps out. He recognizes her. It’s Acxa, the hostess, and she’s looking at Lance with a curious frown on her face, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks up at the rainy sky, getting a bit wet herself before she looks back down at the soaked dude in front of her.

“Can I help you?” she asks, not unkindly.

“Um, no,” Lance says. “I--I’m sorry. I’m just leaving.”

Acxa gives him a hesitant smile. “Are you sure? You seem a bit lost.”

Lance barks out a nervous laugh and he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I--I guess I am. Lost, I mean, but um, I have to go anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

“Alright,” Acxa says, turning around to get inside the restaurant. “I hope you… get unlost.”

“Thanks,” Lance says, his face breaking out into a smile, and he turns around to walk down the road to the bus stop. He guesses he’s heading home. He’ll probably be able to catch the last bus to Altea.

This was a stupid idea anyway. What was he thinking? Keith is probably having a lot of fun right now. He and Jordan must be having the time of their lives at the party, taking shots and playing drinking games and probably making out or something. Lance feels a weird twist on his stomach, thinking about that last bit. He frowns, hating this weird jealousy that’s filling up his stomach. Who even is he jealous of?

He sighs, kicking a rock on the sidewalk. This was a stupid idea. He wants to get home already, take a warm shower, change into his cozy pajamas and stare at the stars in the ceiling of his room. He just wants to get home and never speak to anyone about this day ever again. He feels a few tears prickling the back of his eyes and he sniffles. He’s probably gonna get a cold. This was a stupid idea. This was a stupid idea.

The bus stop is in front of him now. There’s only one other person standing there, on his phone, under a red umbrella. Lance sits down on the bench. He guesses he’s waiting.

 

* 　　　　 ✫  　　 ✦ 　  
✷     　　 ✹ 　   
　　. * 　   
*  ✹ ·   ⊹   
　　　*     
　　 ⋆  *   
　· *

 

With every hour, the party starts getting more crowded and even louder. With every hour, Keith has been steadily getting sober, and feeling a little anxious. Keith has never been a fan of crowds. He’s been fiddling with his bracelet more and more and he thinks that Jordan is noticing he’s getting uncomfortable. Jordan has pulled him aside a few times, asking him if he’s alright. But Keith feels bad about that, like, he knows Jordan is having fun and he doesn’t want to ruin the night for him or something with his dumb anxiety. So he always tells Jordan he’s okay, that it’s alright, that he’s having fun, even if he’s lying through his teeth. He hasn’t been able to shake off that weird feeling that overcame him earlier. And he’s getting really annoyed with himself.

Jordan offers to get Keith a glass of water, so they both move through the crowd and squeeze themselves into the kitchen. It’s so crowded, Keith feels overwhelmed and he thinks it’s showing on his face, since he’s met by Jordan’s concerned eyes when he hands Keith the glass of water.

“Come on,” Jordan says, taking Keith by the wrist and leading him out the front door where there’s no people around. Jordan sighs and shoots Keith a dazzling smile and moves to sit down on the steps up to the porch of the house. He looks up at Keith and pats the spot next to him. Keith’s lips twitch into a soft smile.

They stay there in silence, Keith sipping on his water until he feels the need to speak up.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters.

“No, no,” Jordan says. “It’s okay. I get that it can get overwhelming. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Keith smiles again. “Thanks,” he says, and they lapse back into silence. A few people stumble out of the house, and they have to move to make some space for them to pass. Keith starts breathing easier, feeling better, and Jordan doesn’t seem to mind waiting out here with him. It’s… nice. But still. Keith can’t shake off the weird feeling on his chest.

“Do you wanna go home?” Jordan asks after a while.

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly, biting his lip. Jordan nods and stands up, dusting himself off before offering Keith a hand. Keith leaves his empty cup on the trash can outside the house and they both walk out of the front yard in comfortable silence.

When they arrive at the bus stop, they don’t have to wait long until the bus is there. They get on, chat about the party a little until Keith’s stop comes up and they hop off. They walk a few more blocks without saying much.

“Thank you for tonight,” Keith breaks the silence when they’re near his building. “Do you maybe want to come up? I can make you a cup of tea, if you’d like. You know, after all this trouble, I dragged you out of the party....”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jordan says, still wearing that kind smile of his. “I think we should both just go home.”

“Oh,” Keith blurts out almost immediately, like a natural response.

“I feel like I’ve made a mistake, and I’m sorry if I did.”

“Oh? About what?” Keith asks, feeling puzzled.

“Because, uh, you used to like me a bit, didn’t you?” Jordan says casually, which makes Keith stop on his tracks and starts stammering. He feels his cheeks start heating up. Jordan chuckles a little before he continues, “But after tonight, I feel like now you like someone else.”

“Wh-what?” Keith stutters. “It’s--it’s not that.”

Jordan steps in closer to Keith, a teasing glint to his smile. “Are you suuure?” he asks in a sing song.

“Y--yes!” Keith says.

Jordan smiles, looking like he doesn’t believe what Keith is saying, but goes along with it anyway. “Alright then,” he says. “This is your building, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, looking at it and turning back to Jordan.

“Thank you for tonight,” Jordan tells Keith. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Um, me too,” Keith says, fiddling with his bracelet. Jordan smiles once more and kisses Keith’s cheek softly.

“See you at work,” he says and he looks like he’s trying not to laugh at Keith’s stunned expression. “ _Kouhai_ ,” he adds with a wink, which makes Keith relax and laugh.

“See you, _senpai_ ,” he replies, waving at Jordan before he opens the door to his building.

 

When Keith gets to his apartment, his dad isn’t home, which isn’t surprising. It isn’t even midnight yet, so Keith goes to his bathroom, takes his makeup off with the towels Allura had given him and washes his face with his new face wash. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. What a mess. This feels like such a mess. Nothing had gone particularly _wrong_ , per se, but he feels weird.

What was that all about? Who even gets turned down in such a nice way? And what the fuck did Jordan mean about Keith liking someone else? Like there was literally no one at the party that he felt like he was mildly interested in except for Jordan. But he was partially right, at least that’s what Keith thinks, like. Yes, he used to have a crush on Jordan, but now? It’s not that. He likes Jordan just fine, and he thinks he’s an attractive and interesting guy, but whatever he felt before, the crush, the spark, it’s gone. And Keith doesn’t even know why.

He gets on his pajamas and throws himself into his bed, feeling lost and a little bit confused. He opens up his notes app on his phone and finds Lance’s entry. _Be ready dont fuck this up man honslty. Xoxo lancey lance._ Keith snorts. Lancey Lance.

He sighs again, thinking of writing back to Lance about how the date went, but he doesn’t actually feel like writing to him. He wants to _talk_ to Lance, to hear his voice and teasing commentary about the semi disastrous date. He remembers Lance had saved his number on Keith’s phone for emergencies, and Keith kind of feels like this is one, for some reason. So he pulls the number up and dials. But it doesn’t come through. So he calls again. And it doesn’t come through. Keith frowns. Maybe Lance had put a number wrong in it. And it makes Keith feel… really sad. He guesses that he’ll have to ask Lance to write his number correctly the next time they switch.

He turns his phone off and the lights. So Lance will find out how the date went the next time they switch, and Keith will find pissed off post-it notes in his notebooks, or probably some angry voice memos that will make him smile.

 

But the switchings stop after that.

 


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the switchings stop, Keith decides to take action.

There are no stars on the ceiling. 

The stark white of his own roof is unsettling. It shouldn’t be. Keith feels like it shouldn’t be. For several years, this is the roof he has been staring at as soon as he wakes up. This is his bed. These are his pillows. This is his home. 

There’s no seat by the window.

The sight of Keith’s messy desk is disappointing. It’s been getting messier as the days go by, without anyone with an annoying habit of “organizing” to clean it up. His things are all where he left them the day before. He doesn’t have to waste time looking for his books or his jacket or his keys. This is his space, and only his. He should be glad about it going back to normal, shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he?

There’s no sound of children’s laughter.

Keith listens to the sound of his dad grabbing his keys and shutting the door, the loud sounds of the bustling city below. No one is barging into his room anymore with strange requests or unexpected activities and chores to do. He still has a couple of hours left to enjoy sleeping in. This is good. It’s peaceful, right? Right?

There’s no smell of freshly brewed coffee or  _ huevos con chorizo. _

Keith wakes up without any unfamiliar smell whatsoever. There’s no one telling him to set the table, no more spending time washing the dirty dishes from breakfast. He only has to look after himself, like he always has. This is simpler. He should be happy about that, so why the fuck is he feeling miserable?

It’s been a week since the last time Lance was in his body, or since Keith was in Lance’s body. The days have actually been slower since he has nothing to look forward to. And he never thought that he would feel this way, especially since this whole switching bodies business was such an inconvenience. But suddenly, waking up and going to school and then Juniberries’ seems so… empty somehow. In a way it didn’t use to be. In a way it probably shouldn’t be.

He’s been calling Lance’s number often, hoping that maybe, maybe this time he will pick up. Keith doesn’t even want to talk about the date anymore, not really. He just… misses Lance. He wonders how he’s doing. He wonders if he finished his Slaughterhouse Five essay. He wonders if he finally completed the beautiful cloth he was weaving for his mother’s altar. He wonders if Dani is still having trouble with her math homework, and what have Marco and his arch nemesis Bianca been arguing about this week. But most of all, he worries if they’re all okay. If Lance is okay. If Lance is feeling as… lost as he’s feeling. If he misses Keith too.

One late night, after a few drinks courtesy of Allura, Keith had grown desperate and investigated. He’d looked for Lance in social media, to see if he could contact him. Or something. He found that Lance didn’t have a Facebook, and his Instagram account was locked. It’s been a few days since then, and Lance hasn’t accepted his follow request. And Keith’s just  _ worried _ . 

He found Hunk’s Instagram, but there were only pictures of cakes and cookies he’s baked himself, no sign of Lance anywhere in his account. And Keith feels weird about following Hunk, especially since he doesn’t  _ know _ Keith. So he doesn’t do it. And still, he keeps worrying. He just has a bad feeling about this whole situation. He can’t quite explain it. It just sits on his stomach, heavy like a rock. And it doesn’t go away.

The afternoon of October 31st, Keith walks into Juniberries’ like he does so often. He doesn’t greet anyone as he walks inside the employees’ room, earning a few concerned looks and smiles from his coworkers but Keith doesn’t pay them any attention. He puts on his apron and name tag, slamming his locker door shut more forcefully than he should’ve, and he heads into the main room to make himself useful. He helps Coran set some tables, getting the fancy cutlery from the dishwasher and folding napkins into fancy lotus folds, keeping himself entertained for a while before the diners come in.

“Keith?” Shiro calls out from the bar. His cousin is waving at him, motioning to come closer, so Keith does without thinking much of it. But as soon as he takes a better look at Shiro, he regrets it a little. Shiro has one of his Concerned Brother looks on his face, eyebrows knitted and mouth set in a small frown. And as much as Keith feels like he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this right now, he still walks to the bar, tries to put on his best smile and sits in one of the stools in front of the counter.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but he also knows that Shiro isn’t buying it.

“How was your day? How’s school?” he gives him a tiny smile as he cleans some of the wine glasses. Keith knows that Shiro cleans when he’s anxious, and he can sometimes tell how stressed Shiro is by the amount of times he wipes the same glass clean. And well, he’s been at it with the same glass for the past ten minutes. Keith’s noticed.

“It was fine,” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to smile reassuringly at Shiro, but Keith thinks it actually comes out looking more like a grimace. Shiro eyes him with curiosity, before looking at the glass in his hand and pretending to be extremely focused on wiping an invisible stain from it, waiting for Keith to elaborate. Finally, he sighs when he understands that Keith isn’t talking, setting the glass on the counter and placing both of his hands on it. 

“Listen, man,” Shiro starts, and Keith knows what’s coming, one of those concerned big brother speeches that Shiro is so good at. “You know how it goes in this restaurant… everyone knows everyone’s business… so naturally, everybody knows what happened last week with Jordan.”

“Shiro--”

“No, Keith, it’s okay,” Shiro interrupts. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. We’ve all had some bad dates, like, remember when I went out with Gina in high school? Like, that was a bad date….” 

Keith sighs, “Shiro…”

“You know, I broke her cat’s leg when I accidentally stepped on it and I started crying so hard she ended up comforting me when we got to the vet. And look at us now, four years and still going strong, like, you don’t have to give up, man…”

Keith places his head in his hands and rubs his temples “Shiro…” he tries again.

”I mean, it’s completely valid to be upset since things didn’t work out as everyone expected. I’ve seen you this week, you seemed sad about it. But remember, it’s not the end of the world. And like, I’ve seen you and Jordan lately! You guys have been working so well! Getting all those tips, you know, working as a team. He doesn’t hate you or anything, you know. I talked to him the other day, actually--”

“Oh my god,  _ Takashi _ ,” Keith says sharply, making Shiro actually stop his rambling and look at him. “It’s not that.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, straightening up in surprise. He shoots Keith a nervous smile and grabs his glass again to rub it clean for the thousandth time. “Oh… Wait, then, what is it?” he asks again, his concern back on his voice and brows.

Keith lets out a deep sigh, actually wondering how is he supposed to tell him he’s been swapping bodies with someone and he’s upset that it’s stopped, as abruptly as it started. How can he explain that he’s worried about Lance, who he hasn’t even met? Shiro’ll think he’s crazy. No, scratch that, he can’t possibly tell Shiro about it. But he wants to talk about this. He’s been so stressed about it, feeling so alone. He looks up at his cousin, biting his lip, eyes wide.

“I, uh…” Keith starts, not entirely sure about what he’s going to say. But he still tries anyway. “Um, I… I met someone.”

Shiro’s look of concern morphs into one of surprise. “What? Already? It’s only been a week after you and Jordan--”

Keith didn’t think this through. “It’s not like that!” he blurs out. 

“Um, okay… Who is he? Where did you meet him?” Shiro asks, curiosity practically dripping from his voice.

He says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Uh, online. I met him online.” Keith feels the need to say it again, just for reassurement. 

Shiro’s jaw drops. “Online?”

“Online.”

“Like, online  _ online _ ? You met him online?”

“Yes, Takashi,  _ online,”  _ Keith repeats, feeling a little bit exasperated. Although he understands his cousin’s surprise. Keith’s never been the type to make online friends.

“Stop calling me Takashi!”

“I’m calling you Takashi because you’re being insufferable! I’m trying to tell you something here!”

“Oh, about someone you met  _ online _ ?”

“Who did you meet online?” Keith hears Jordan’s voice beside him, startling him.

“Yes, Keith, who did you meet online?” Allura’s voice chimes in from Keith’s other side. He’s being ambushed.

“Um,” Keith says, feeling the tips of his ears turn red. He has no choice anymore. “His name is Lance.”

“Oooh,  _ Lance _ ,” Allura says, teasing.

“God, that’s a good name. Manly. Nice,” Jordan adds, nodding in approval.

“Yeah, I’ve never considered it, but it is a good name,” Shiro jumps in, a hand on his chin.

“Yeah, like, Lance Armstrong,” Jordan says. 

“What the fuck, no, Lance Armstrong sucks,” Allura says. “I was thinking about Lance Bass.”

“Ooh, girl, yeah. A gay icon,” Jordan replies.

“Wait,” Shiro cuts in. “Isn’t that the guy from NSYNC?”

“Yeah,” Allura says. “He’s gay.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Shiro says. “Good for him.”

“ _ GUYS _ ,” Keith finally speaks up. “Do you want to know? Or would you like to continue with your list of famous Lances?”

Allura purses her lips in thought. “No actually, can’t think of any other famous Lance. So please, Keith, do go on,” she says. 

Keith sighs for what feels like the millionth time today. He waits for a few seconds before he speaks up again. “I met him online back in September,” he explains. 

“September?!” Shiro says with a tone of betrayal. “And you waited  _ two months _ to tell us?!”

“Nevermind that,” Jordan says, waving Shiro off and placing his elbow on the counter, resting his chin in his hand. “Keith, how does Lance look like? Is he hot?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Um, he has blue eyes,” Keith says. 

“God, blue eyes are such a nice trait,” Jordan says, dreamily. 

Allura flips her wavy platinum hair over her shoulder and grins at Jordan. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Allura, I would most  _ definitely _ go heterosexual for you because of your blue eyes,” Jordan tells her, batting his eyelashes.

“Aw, Jordan!” Allura says, placing her hands over her heart. “I would most definitely go heterosexual for you, too!” She pauses. “No, never mind, I like women too much.”

“Oh my god, Allura, could you stop derailing the conversation?” Shiro says, finally setting the wine glass back on the counter. “Please, Keith, continue.”

“Um… He has nice tanned, dark skin and cute freckles too?” Keith doesn’t know why he keeps going, but he finds he can’t stop talking about Lance. After two months of not being able to talk to his friends about him, he wonders why it took him so long to do so.

“Wiiiiig,” Jordan says loudly, cupping his mouth with his hands.

“What is wig?” Shiro asks, puzzled.

“Oh, Shiro,” Allura says. “So tragically heterosexual.”

“He can speak Spanish too,” Keith continues, not paying attention to the conversation. “And he’s really good at chemistry, but just so bad at literature. And he draws! He is so talented, like, he can weave too? Who does that? Like wow. And like, he also has a nice a--” Keith stops himself. Oh, fuck. He’s been rambling. 

“No, Keith, he has a nice what?” Allura asks, nudging him with a shit eating grin.

Jordan moves in closer. “A nice ass?” 

“Oh my god, you’ve seen his ass?” Shiro jumps in, horrified. 

“No--” Keith starts.

“Oh my god, you’ve sexted already?!” Allura screeches.

“I do not need to know this about my baby cousin,” Shiro says mostly to himself, covering his ears.

“I am  _ not _ a baby, Shiro,” Keith complains.

“So you  _ have _ sexted.” Jordan smiles mischievously. 

“No!!”

“Keith, you should know there is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re both adults,” Allura is saying. “We understand you have needs--”

“We have not sexted!” Keith says, his voice uncharacteristically high pitched. “We’re just friends!”

“Hmm,” Allura hums. “I have a hard time buying that, but go off.”

Keith opens his mouth to retort but Shiro speaks first. 

“So if this Lance person is so nice and talented and apparently handsome--”

“I never said he was handsome.”

“Oh, but you  _ implied _ it,” Allura says.

Shiro ignores Keith and Allura’s comments. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Um. He stopped replying,” Keith says and his face falls. 

His three friends make a sharp intake of breath in unison, their eyes with a mixture of concern and pity, and Keith hates it.

“No, it’s not like that. I don’t think he’s ghosting me, it’s so unlike him,” Keith tries to explain. “Like, we were good, you know? So I’m just… really worried about him,” he admits quietly. 

There’s a pause and Keith feels like now that he’s talked about it out loud, the situation feels heavier. If the body swaps have come to an end, Lance would totally reach out to him, Keith is sure. After these two months he feels like he  _ knows _ Lance, and Lance just wouldn’t be ignoring him. The heavy feeling in his gut makes a comeback, the familiar feeling of anxiety starts to fill his veins.

“Aw, baby,” Allura says and envelops him in a warm hug. Shiro steps out of the bar, walks towards them and joins the hug alongside Jordan. There, squished between his friends’ bodies, Keith feels… comforted. He had no idea how much he needed this hug. A tear might have slipped from his eye.

They hear someone clear their throat behind them. “Guys, I am sorry to interrupt this group hug,” Coran says as they all pull apart. “But it’s close to opening time. Allura, Chef Alfor wants you in the kitchen.”

“Yes sir,” she replies, shooting him a two fingered salute. She squeezes Keith’s arm and shoots him a small smile. “We can talk about this later.”

Keith nods in thanks and watches Allura disappear into the kitchen while tying her hair up in a bun. Jordan pats his shoulder next, his eyes kind.

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Jordan tells him, and Keith nods again, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He’s just so grateful for his friends.

“Keith,” he hears Shiro say after Jordan leaves. So Keith turns around and sees his cousin staring at him, eyes full of encouragement and understanding. “You know where he lives, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, nodding. “Ish.”

“Then why don’t you go look for him?” Shiro asks.

“Two minutes till opening!” Coran shouts to everyone in the restaurant.

“I’ll cover for you,” Shiro tells him, a crooked smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah?” Keith says and Shiro nods. “Alright, um. I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Shiro says and goes back to his spot behind the bar. “Now go get ready, this show’s about to start.”

Keith smiles at Shiro, feeling glad he told him about Lance, even if his story was not actually accurate. But he’s glad. So he joins the other waiters, feeling lighter than he has in a week. Feeling better and… maybe a bit hopeful. Yeah, hopeful.

 

When Keith gets home that night, he looks up buses to Altea, California. There’s only two that go there during the day, so he buys a Greyhound ticket for the morning bus. He packs a spare pair of underwear, a few t-shirts and toiletries in a backpack and texts Shiro, informing him he’s actually doing it. That he’s going to look for Lance.

It’s not even thirty seconds after he texts Shiro that he’s getting a call from his cousin. Keith frowns, but answers anyway.

“You have to tell me where you’re going,” Shiro says without preamble as soon as Keith picks up. So he does as he’s told. Keith tells him about the tiny town he’s visiting, a couple of hours away from San Francisco, how he’s leaving tomorrow morning and coming back on Sunday. Shiro approves of his plans and urges him to be safe. He wishes him luck before he hangs up the phone, making Keith feel a little more at ease. 

 He’s still nervous, though. And he can’t sleep. He even does the skincare routine that usually helps him wind down with no such luck. So he eventually sits down on his desk, feeds Red the fish, opens his journals and rereads some of the old entries. They make him feel a bit nostalgic so he stops, opening up a new page and starts doodling. He tries picturing the town, picturing how he’s getting to Lance’s house but he feels the memories slipping a little. Maybe it’s the anxiety or something that’s making his brain a bit foggy. He frowns, frustrated and decides to make a drawing of Lance’s house so he can ask around if he doesn’t find it. The drawing isn’t as good as any of Lance’s, the lines a bit wobbly, the details a bit sketchy but he thinks the likelihood is there. Satisfied with his work, he rips the drawing off the notebook, folds it carefully and puts it in his backpack, so he doesn’t forget it.

Keith gets in bed and even though he’s tired, he can’t bring himself to sleep. Feeling restless, he grabs his phone for the sake of having something to do, and opens the Voice Memo App.

_ “Dude, you won’t believe this,”  _ he hears himself speaking a little bit more high pitched and rushed than usual. He smiles, knowing it’s Lance speaking to him.  _ “Like, I was walking home from school, y’know to get changed and whatnot and I saw a dude walking like ten puppies. Ten! At the same time! How does someone have so many puppies?”  _ Keith snorts, remembering when he explained to Lance that people are actual dog walkers and Lance’s reaction to it. He clicks on the next voice memo, just to listen to him again. 

_ “What do you mean people get paid to walk dogs? Keith Kogane you’re a fucking dickwad you should have picked  _ that _ job!”  _ Lance screeches into the phone. Keith’s cheeks hurt a little bit from smiling so big. 

“I will find you, Lance Flores,” he says into the empty room. “I will.”

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✦  　 ˚  ⊹ 　　　　✷   　   
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Keith had never been to the San Francisco Greyhound station before. It’s an unremarkable building, but it’s full of people lining up to take their respective buses. He looks at his printed ticket, trying to spot the gate he’s supposed to go to, shouldering his backpack and sets himself to explore the place. It’s smaller than he imagined, so he finds the bus going South quicker than he thought he would. And then he waits.

Keith suddenly feels two hands covering his eyes. He jumps, startled and quickly slaps the hands away with force.

“Rude!” he hears a familiar voice say. “I didn’t even get to say guess who!”

“Allura. What the fuck are you doing here.” He turns around, only to find that is not only Allura, but Shiro and Jordan too, smiling at him, backpacks on their shoulders and tickets in hand. “What the fuck,” Keith says again. 

“Yooo,” Jordan says in a sing song voice. 

“Before you say anything, it’s not my fault, okay,” Shiro says, putting his hands up. 

“What the fuck do you mean it’s not your fault?” Keith says, remembering that the only person that knew of his itinerary was Shiro. 

“I just called Allura to see what we could do about covering your shift at work--” Shiro starts.

“Sooo I told my dad, who by the way is a sucker for love stories, and he pretty much gave us the weekend off,” Allura explains, nonchalantly. 

“Love stories?” Keith says with a frown. “Are you saying this is a love story? Dude what the fuck, how is this a love story.”

His friends roll their eyes at the same time. It’s creepy, if he’s being honest. 

“Are you kidding me? This is some shoujo anime, romance movie bullshit,” Jordan says. When Keith starts rolling his eyes, Jordan lifts up his index finger and adds, “You can’t change my mind.”

“We are not about to miss out on our friend’s great gay love story,” Allura says.

“This is not a love story!” Keith says, feeling his cheeks heat up. “There’s nothing to miss out on!”

Shiro sighs. “In my defense, I only wanted to come along to just, you know, support you. And make sure that you’re safe,” he tells his cousin, a kind smile stretching the scar over his nose.

“I’m here for the drama,” Allura says. “But I guess that too.”

“Fine,” Keith starts, knowing that there is no way he is going to be able to talk his friends out of this. “Just, don’t embarrass me or whatever.”

“Embarrass you?” Jordan says, placing a hand over his chest. “We could never!”

“No, Keith’s right, guys. Just. Just… Be chill,” Shiro says, arms crossed over his chest, and Keith feels a tiny smile escaping from his lips.

The four of them board the bus, Keith and Shiro sitting next to each other and Jordan and Allura in front of them. An hour goes by, and Keith watches the landscape start to change from the urban buildings of San Francisco and give way to trees and a couple of mountains in the distance. Keith can’t stop fidgeting with his bracelet, and of course Shiro notices, placing a hand over his wrist and squeezing it reassuringly.

“It’s going to be fine, Keith,” Shiro tells him in a low voice, and Keith’s lips twitch into a small smile, suddenly grateful that Shiro is with him.

Shiro has been trying to nap since they left the city, but Allura and Jordan have been chattering nonstop from the seat in front of them. There has not been a single minute of silence. Keith is honestly amazed at his friends’ talent to keep the conversation going. Shiro… not so much.

“Why do we hang out with these guys?” Shiro says, eyes half closed.

“I don’t know,” Keith replies. “We must be masochists.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Allura calls back to them. Shiro chuckles in response.

Keith knows that their stop is nearby. The trees get thicker, the bus starts going uphill, and Jordan gets bored and turns around to look at Shiro and Keith, Allura following suit. 

Shiro doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that they’re staring at him. “Whaaat,” he says in a low voice, eyes still shut. 

“How we doing?” Allura asks with a smile.

“Trying to get some sleep,” he tells her, half opening one eye to glare at her.  

“You’re so boring, Shiro,” Jordan says nonchalantly. 

Allura covers her mouth with one hand and tells Jordan in a loud whisper, “It’s because he’s heterosexual.”

“Why… Are you… Like this…” Shiro mumbles.

“You love me!” Allura says and turns around to sit back down properly on her seat. Jordan keeps staring at them, Keith especially. 

“So,” Jordan starts, before Keith can say anything. “You did like someone else.” He smiles dazzlingly. Keith remembers when that smile used to make his heart beat faster. It seems like so long ago.

“It’s not like that,” Keith says yet again. He considers Lance a friend. And he’s just worried about his friend. He doesn’t understand why everyone is trying to make this into something else. But… He probably wouldn’t to this for  _ any _ friend, leaving everything behind just because he has a gut feeling. But he’s always been impulsive, so like, there is nothing weird about it. Besides this is different. Lance is different. And none of his other friends could understand it even if he tried to explain this magic bullshit thing that has been going on for months. 

“Hm,” Jordan hums, snapping Keith out of his train of thought. “Fine,” he gives him another smile before he turns back into his seat. 

Half an hour later, the bus stops on the familiar area. Keith feels his insides do a twist, and Shiro pats his arm again, reassuringly. They step out of the bus and Keith breaths in the fresh mountain air, this time in his own body. He’s missed this. 

“Where to?” Shiro asks Keith, standing next to him. 

“Uh,” Keith says, gnawing on his bottom lip. Keith feels like he should know where to go. He’s traveled this town on Lance’s bike, next to his siblings and his friends. But when he tries to think about it, he can’t remember a thing. “This is gonna maybe sound ridiculous, but um. I have a drawing. Of his house.”

“Oh?” Allura says, curiously peeking into Keith’s bag that’s now open next to him.

“Yeah,” he says, taking out the piece of folded paper and showing it to them. “It’s a small town. I figured we could… ask around.”

“Alright!” Jordan says. “We have a mission. We’ll help you out.” He grins at Keith and takes the drawing from his hands and moves to ask the first person he bumps into.

Keith smiles, grateful again that his friends are with him. 

 

After four hours of walking around, asking strangers and a million selfies taken by Jordan and Allura, they start to get tired. They’ve been walking alongside the lake’s shore, watching the sun glint on its surface until it gets to its zenith. It’s really warm for a November afternoon, and though none of his friends have complained about the heat and the throbbing in their feet, Keith knows they’re starting to get restless and a little bit hungry. He’s known Shiro for a long time to know that when he starts scowling at everyone and everything, the man needs food.

Keith feels sad that they still haven’t had any luck whatsoever, but he’s not giving up on Lance. He keeps telling everyone they’re going to find him, that maybe the next person knows. But he kinda feels like maybe he’s saying it to convince himself, that abruptly traveling to a town in the middle of nowhere was not a mistake. So he doesn’t let his disappointment and frustration show, because he’s absolutely convinced that if they keep asking, if they keep looking, Keith will find Lance.

At some point, they get tired of their trek around the lake and find themselves walking through the small town’s main street. It’s not much, but the sidewalks are wide and the trees sprawl above them, forming a canopy that protects them from the sun’s relentless heat. They walk past the small, one-room theatre which Keith remembers from that time he took Dani and Marco to see a movie. He just… can’t remember, for the life of him, which movie they saw. A few memories start unblurring themselves as he walks through the main street, but the way home is still frustratingly blank. 

There’s the single Walmart across the street, the old church next to what looks like a government building, the dry cleaner’s shop reading LAVANDERÍA, a small ice cream shop with a sign saying HELADOS-ICE CREAM. There’s a lot of Spanish signs around, which is to be expected of a tiny town with such a huge latino population where _la_ _migra_ won’t bother them. 

Eventually, they spot two bars right next to each other. Jordan leads the way to the first one with a sign that reads BARECITO & INN, and they all stumble inside this tiny establishment that only has a few booths strewn about and a bar with stools in front of it. There’s only three other people in the bar, apart from the single bartender that was scrolling through his phone until he notices his new visitors. The bartender looks up with a bright smile, his eyes crinkling in a way that’s somehow familiar to Keith but he can’t quite place it.

“This is cute…” Allura says dubiously, as they sit on the stools next to each other.

“That’s generous,” the bartender says with a sly grin that makes Allura’s cheeks tinge with pink. “Welcome to the best bar in town!”

Jordan cracks a smile at that. “Dude, there’s only two.”

“Yes, and this one is the best,” the bartender replies without missing a beat. “The name’s Andy. What can I do for you today? I know that you guys probably aren’t from around here so you don’t know about our Saturday Special! All drinks! Two for the price of one.” Andy looks at Shiro then and flashes his brightest smile yet. “But for you, my friend, anything you want, on the house,” he adds with a wink.

Everyone in their party looks at Shiro then, who seems a little bit lost as he points to himself. “Me?” he says.

Andy laughs, a rich sound that rings on Keith’s ears for some reason. It’s familiar, but he sets the thought aside as the curly haired bartender keeps on grinning at Shiro.

“Of course,” he says. “You know, cute guys don’t walk into my bar often.”

Shiro blushes, a deep red that contrasts with the white of his scar. “I--uh…” Shiro starts, his blush deepening even further. 

“Oh sweetie,” Allura starts, catching Andy’s attention. “Shiro is the token heterosexual of our group. We apologize in his behalf.”

“Allura!” Shiro says, finally regaining some composure. Keith just watches the entire scene play out with a smile on his face, enjoying the fact that everyone’s attention is focused on someone else for once this day. 

“Tsk,” Andy says, his smile still intact. “I knew it was too good to be true. The offer’s still on anyway,” he tells Shiro, who keeps on blushing.

“Um, if we ask for a beer, you know, hypothetically,” Jordan starts, leaning across the bar. “My friend and I over here,” he gestures at Keith and himself. “Would you card us?” 

“My man,” Andy replies, looking around as if to check if no one is listening in. “Everyone that walks into my bar is legal,” he explains with a mischievous glint to his eye.

“Oh,  _ sweet _ ,” Jordan says, leaning back and putting his hands together. “Two Ultras for me and my man over here,” he continues, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “What about you guys?” he asks their legal companions.

“What does the expert recommend?” Allura asks Andy.

Andy blushes a little. “You know, I’m not an expert, but um. Ditch the American beers.”

“Oh?” Allura says, interested. 

“We get a lot of Mexican imports over here,” Andy explains as he moves around behind the bar, opening up coolers and such. “And like, not to be biased, but you know, it’s good beer.” 

“Oh, oh, how do they say in Mexico?” Jordan snaps his fingers, as if trying to remember something. “ _ Las chelas _ , amirite?”

Andy chuckles. “ _ Las chelas _ ,” he says, pointing a finger gun at Jordan. He then places two bottles in front of Allura, a pale brew and a darker brew. “Dos Equis, you know, very popular, a classic,” he tells her, pointing to the pale brew. “And if you’re feeling a bit adventurous, try the Indio.”

“Why, I will,” Allura says, grabbing the bottle of beer from in front of Andy after he opens it and takes a swig. Keith watches as Allura’s eyes widen and she starts grinning. “Dude!” she says.

“I know.” Andy nods sagely.

“Fuck the Ultras man,” Jordan says. “Give us one of those!”

Andy obliges and even opens up a bottle for Shiro, who’s been really quiet since he was outed as a heterosexual. He looks pleased when he tries the beer and he leans closer to Allura to comment on it.

“You know, Allura, we could try and get some of these to the restaurant,” Shiro tells her.

“Yeah!” Allura says excitedly. “I was thinking this could go super well with the steak Father likes to make…”

Keith tunes out the conversation about wine and beer food pairings and takes a sip of the bottle in front of him. It’s okay, Keith thinks, better than most beers he’s tried but he isn’t really that much of a beer person. Jordan has taken out his phone to take a picture of the bottle of beer and add it to his Instagram story, so Keith just fiddles with the beer, scratching the brand sticker off the bottle in an anxious impulse.

“So,” Andy the bartender says eventually, after giving them some typical bar food and checking how the rest of the patrons are doing. “What brings you guys here?”

Jordan looks up from his phone and turns to Keith, raising his eyebrows at him in a gesture of encouragement. “We’re just here with this guy,” Jordan explains, waiting for Keith to complement his statement.

Keith realizes he hasn’t spoken a word since they walked into the bar, so he takes another sip off his beer and shoots a nervous smile at the friendly bartender. “I’m, uh, looking for a friend,” he starts, his hands tightening around the beer bottle. 

Andy raises his eyebrows, looking directly at Keith. Even though Keith hasn’t looked up from staring at his bottle, Andy leans on the counter, as if directing his full attention to the quiet guy of the group who’s finally speaking up.

“Uh,” Keith says, and his eyes finally flicker up to look at the person in front of him and he’s met by deep blue eyes, curious, attentive. Keith has seen them before. He clears his throat. “He lives around here and um, I’m worried about him so we’re looking for him.” He pauses. “We haven’t had much luck though.”

“Well, it’s a small town,” Andy says. “Everyone kind of knows everyone, even if they don’t know them by name. So you’re bound to find him.” He gives Keith an encouraging smile.

“Show him the drawing!” Jordan says after a few seconds, elbowing Keith softly. 

“Oh! Yes,” Keith says, scrambling to get his shitty drawing outside of his backpack. “I um, I have a drawing of his house,” he continues as he starts unfolding the paper and sets it on the table. “It’s not good, but, uh…” He looks up at Andy then, whose face has gone white as a sheet. 

“Who are you looking for?” Andy asks, his voice tight. Keith frowns.

“H-his name is Lance,” Keith says with a hesitant tone, watching Andy’s face go through several emotions in a few seconds that Keith can’t quite catch, before he settles on a neutral face. Andy straightens up, stiff as a board as he takes the drawing from the table. 

“Uh, um,” Andy starts and clears his throat. He scratches the back of his head. “How do you-- how do you know Lance?”

“Do you know him?” Shiro cuts in, and that’s when Keith notices that his friends have all switched their full attention into the conversation. Andy’s eyes flicker to Shiro before he looks back down at the drawing in his hands.

“I-I do,” Andy says, and Keith feels his heart skip a beat. “I  _ did _ .”

“Do you know where we can find him then?” Allura asks, taking the words right out of Keith’s own mouth.

Andy bites his lip and takes a deep breath. “You can’t.”

Keith’s heart plummets. 

“What do you mean?” Jordan questions, his voice raising a little. His voice is tinged with confusion, fuzzy like the cloud on Keith’s brain. “We came all this way to find him, what do you mean we can’t?” 

There’s a long pause, it’s probably been only a few seconds but, to Keith, it feels like time is expanding endlessly. He feels his heart start beating faster and fingers grip the beer bottle in his hands until his knuckles are white, his entire body tense. The silence seems to stretch, pulled taut like warp threads on a loom. 

“Because,” Andy starts, but his breath catches. Keith notices how Andy’s fingers have tightened around the drawing, crumpling the paper a little. 

“Because…” Andy tries again. “Lance is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um..... *nervous smile* remember the tags say the character death is temporary? HKSDH don't hate us. we love you all and as always thanks for reading <3
> 
> -ron and mar


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the longest chapter we've written so far. it was such a wild ride!! we hope you enjoy this chapter as much as we enjoyed writing it and we'll see you again in 2 more weeks!
> 
> cw for anxiety
> 
> translations at the end, as always!

Keith’s fingers haven’t stopped shaking.

 _“You can’t,”_ he keeps hearing Andy in his head. _“Lance is dead.”_

He’s pacing across the room, feeling his friends’ concerned eyes on him. No one says a word.

 _“It’s been a year since it happened.”_ He remembers how Andy struggled to get the words out, the way his voice cracked, the way his midnight blue eyes filled with an unbearable sadness, Keith had to look away.   

Keith fiddles with his bracelet, trying to give his unsteady fingers a task to do. He feels the familiar uncomfortable feeling of anxiety coursing through his veins, pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Lance is dead.

 _“There was a landslide, rockslide, something. It had been raining a lot, and…”_ Andy had taken a deep breath, trying to steady himself. _“They were all inside the house, sleeping and...”_

Keith thinks of the lovely house built into the mountain, the sounds of the forest at night and of children’s laughter in the mornings. How peaceful it was, so removed and so private and just such… a nice place for that family to call their home.

 _“It took them all by surprise and I--.”_ Keith could tell the conversation had taken a lot out of Andy, and he felt stupid for not thinking about it before. Those eyes, that smile. The empty bed in Lance’s room. Guilt put his gut through a wringer. This is Andy Flores.

_“Only my little brother survived. Um, Marco…”_

Marco… Keith feels his hands curl into fists when he thinks about the youngest Flores. He is never going to see his twin sister again. Dani will never tell Marco to stop cursing, or to back him up when Bianca disagrees with him, or to watch the finale of Steven Universe. She’ll never get better at weaving bracelets, or flash that gap toothed smile at anyone ever again. Abuela will never weave for her family again, or tell stories to her grandchildren with that wonderful crooked smile of hers, or cook the best Mexican food, or give those great hugs that warmed anyone right to their toes. Lance’s dad… he will never get a chance to have a better relationship with his sons. And Lance… god, _Lance_ . Lance will never be able to wear his ugly Star Wars t-shirts, or fill up new sketchbooks, or make Hunk laugh. He won’t ever be able to have his first kiss or get a boyfriend or--or beat Pidge at Smash, or go to college far away from this town. Lance, Lance, _Lance_.

Keith runs his hands through his hair and pulls. He thinks he’s losing his goddamn mind. It’s impossible. A week ago Lance left post-its on his desk with that messy handwriting of his, or his random Naruto doodles on Keith’s journal. He walked in Keith’s body, hung out with Keith’s friends and made them laugh. He took care of their shared space, buying groceries and cleaning up. Lance left parts of himself in his apartment. This happened a week ago, a _week_ ago. How could Andy tell him that Lance is dead? That he has been dead for a year? This doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t make _any_ sense.

Keith feels dizzy. His fingers start getting numb. He can’t breathe. There’s wetness on his cheeks. He can’t fucking breathe.

“Keith,” he hears from far away. A hand on his shoulder. Arms around him.

“Keith, listen to me.” The overwhelming smell of Shiro’s cologne. The rumble of his voice in his chest.

“Breathe with me, here we go.” Keith’s fingers clutch the back of Shiro’s shirt.

“In.”

Inhale.

“Out.”

Exhale.

“In.” Shiro rubs soothing circles on Keith’s back. “Out. It’s okay, _aiko-chan_ ,” Shiro whispers, the use of his mother’s old pet name for Keith making him shiver. “It’s okay.”

Keith doesn’t know how long he stays there, holding on to his cousin, his _brother_. But they stay like that for what feels for Keith like hours, until he’s finally ready to pull away from the warm embrace. He sniffles, wiping snot and tears from his face with his sleeve, and looks up at Shiro with grateful eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Shiro just smiles in response, squeezing his shoulder one more time. It’s then when he remembers that there are other people in the room, people who have never seen him lose his shit like he just did. He feels so embarrassed, self conscious. What are Allura and Jordan thinking? They must think he’s stupid or crazy or whatever. He can’t bring himself to look away from Shiro and stop pretending that they’re alone.

When he tears his gaze away from Shiro, Allura is approaching him slowly, her brows pulled into a concerned frown, as if she is unsure if it’s okay to do so. She offers Keith a small smile that he returns. Allura seems to take that as an invitation to wrap her arms around him, which he appreciates more than he could ever manage to articulate. Jordan just stares, looking a little bit nervous, a little bit lost, his hands wringed together, his knuckles white. He offers up a smile of his own, eyes kind, and it’s enough for Keith. He lets out a sigh, feeling relieved and stupid for ever thinking that his friends would ever look at him differently after this. He’d underestimated Allura and Jordan both, and he feels kinda guilty about it, but he pushes the feeling down. He moves to sit down in one of the beds, Allura following him.

“I’m not crazy, you know,” Keith still feels like he needs to tell them, his quiet voice ringing loud in the silent room.

“We know,” Jordan replies. “We came here to help, we’re in this together,” he continues, standing up from the bed opposite Keith’s. They’d booked a small room at the Inn a floor up from the bar they’d met Andy in.

“I talked to him a week ago,” Keith says, pulling up his phone from his pocket. “I’m not crazy.”

“We know, love,” Allura says, her voice soft as she slips a hand to hold one of Keith’s.

“I have proof,” Keith keeps going, unlocking his phone and going to the notes app. “Look,” he says, showing his phone to Allura, who frowns.

“Keith, there’s um, nothing there,” she says. Keith sees Shiro and Jordan exchange a look from the corner of his eye.

“N-no, it’s right here.” He turns his phone to himself, only to find out that his phone reads _No entries_. “No, it was right here! I--.” He proceeds to open the voice memo app, and right there, before his eyes, he watches Lance’s voice memos disappear, as if someone invisible was deleting everything from his phone against his will. “I--I-- what’s happening?”

“It’s okay, Keith, we’ll figure this out,” Shiro jumps in, his voice as steady and reassuring as ever.

Keith feels his hands start to shake again and his heart speed up. He untangles his hand from Allura’s to fidget with his bracelet again until she places a soothing hand on top of it.

“Where did you get this?” Allura says, running her fingers through the intricate knot pattern of the bracelet on Keith’s wrist. He knows she’s trying to change the topic to get his mind off the hard pull of anxiety. “It’s pretty,” she murmurs.

“I-- thanks,” Keith says, brows knitting up. “Someone gave this to me, but I… I don’t remember who it was.” He racks his brains, trying to pull up a memory. His mind doesn’t provide him with anything useful, just echoes of the voice of his dreams.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

“I don’t remember,” he says again, his voice coming out a bit strained.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Allura tells him, intertwining their fingers again with a soft squeeze. “We all forget stuff sometimes.”

“This kinda feels important though,” Keith murmurs.

Allura rests her head on Keith’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it right now,” she says.

There’s a long silence until Jordan speaks up. “So, what next?”

Keith sighs. “I think-- I think I’d like to talk to Andy,” he says.

“I’ll go with you,” Allura replies, moving to stand up.

“No,” Keith tells her, pulling her back to sit next to him on the bed. “I think I need to do this by myself.”

Allura frowns, but she nods anyway, letting go of Keith’s hand. Keith feels her eyes on him as he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Keith walks down the stairs and into the small bar, finding Andy behind the counter, wiping it clean. He looks up when Keith enters the room, and he tries to muster up a smile but fails. It makes Keith feel shitty, as if he is somehow responsible for Andy’s mood. Still, he needs to know more, so he plops himself down on a stool in front of the bartender.

“Another beer?” Andy offers and Keith nods. Andy opens up another bottle of Indio for him and watches Keith as he takes a sip.

“I’m not a beer person, you know,” Keith tells him, just for the sake of having something to say. “But um, kinda felt like I needed a drink.”

Andy chuckles, opening up a new bottle for himself. “I shouldn’t drink on the job, you know,” he says. “But I feel you on that.”

They stay quiet for a while, drinking their beers and listening to the chatter of the football commentators of the TV in the background. Keith starts scratching off the beer’s label.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” Keith says, making Andy look up at him with those inquisitive blue eyes. “For, you know, um, bringing all of this up. I’m sure this must be hard for you--”

“What were you to my brother?” Andy interrupts, in a very bold way that makes Keith shift in his seat. He seems genuinely curious. Those eyes… Keith looks down at his beer.

“I um,” he starts. “It’s kinda hard to explain.”

Andy just raises an eyebrow, waiting for Keith to continue. So Keith takes a deep breath and repeats what he told Shiro and Allura and Jordan a day before, not mentioning exactly _when_. Andy still doesn’t speak after Keith is done with his story, as if he’s taking his time to digest the information he just recieved.

“You’re from San Francisco?” Andy asks, the question taking Keith off guard.

“Uh, yeah,” Keith replies. “How’d you-- how did you know?”

Keith watches as Andy’s jaw locks, the muscles on his neck jumping a little. He doesn’t say anything though. He just shrugs.

“An-- anyway, I, um…” Keith continues, hating the way he keeps stumbling over his words. “I know this is a weird request but.” He takes a deep breath. “I need to see it. The house.”

“Why the fuck--” Andy starts, temper flaring. He clears his throat. “Why?”

“I can’t explain it,” Keith tries. “I just. I feel like... I need to do this.”

“Like you need to do this?” Andy presses, his voice mocking Keith’s own words. Keith tries really hard not to smile, because it’s reminding him of everyone at the Flores’ household whenever petty arguments were held. But he knows, looking at the way that Andy’s face is contorting, that it probably is not a good idea, so he bites his lip.

“ _Después de que te fue a buscar a San Francisco y mágicamente te olvidaste de quién era, pinche pendejo-_ -”

Keith is caught off guard at the sudden Spanish, only being able to make out San Francisco and the two latter insults. “Wait, what?”

“He was there for you all along,” Andy keeps ranting. “He did so much for you, and where the fuck were you, Keith? _Ay, sí wey_ , whomst?” Andy rolls his eyes.

It hits Keith that Andy actually has a reference of who he is. And it hurts a little, the things that Andy is spouting at him, even if they’re really confusing to Keith. His eyebrows tighten in anger, remembering the empty bed in Lance’s room, the way that the Flores’ usually cut themselves off whenever they tried to mention _someone_ . The sad eyes in Dani’s face, the frown in Marco’s lips, Abuela’s far away look whenever someone muttered _And--_. They were little things that confused Keith whenever he was in Lance’s body, but ended up brushing aside. He always felt like there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, especially because this never happened whenever the Flores mentioned Julie, their oldest sister. But… this fucker.

“Oh yeah?” Keith says, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. A part of him feels like he shouldn’t say it, but when he remembers the pain that this dude’s absence caused on the Flores’ household, he cannot keep the words in. “Where the fuck were _you_?”

A look of hurt and anger flashes through Andy’s eyes and Keith feels like yeah, maybe he did overstep some sort of line. Andy sighs, and takes his time to reply. He takes a sip of his beer, sets it down on the counter and fixes Keith a hard glare.

“I can see why he liked you,” Andy mutters, turning his eyes to look at the TV in the background.

Keith’s insides jump and tangle all at the same time. He feels his heart stop and rush at the same time. This feels so confusing. Why did that sentence make his body have all sorts of different reactions? He places his head in his hands and rubs his temples a little. It’s been… a long day. Keith doesn’t know how to reply to Andy’s last statement, so he doesn’t.

“I get off at seven,” Andy says, still not looking at Keith.

It takes all of Keith to try not to smile smugly at his small victory. So he takes his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, paying for the beer and leaving a generous tip.

“Okay,” he says, and stands up to go up the stairs to tell his friends about this new development.

Before he lets himself into the room, hand on the doorknob, he stops at the sound of his name coming from behind the door. He knows he’s eavesdropping, but his friends are talking about him. And curiosity gets the better of him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe Keith, but this whole thing is just really weird,” he hears Allura say.

“There must be something we’re missing,” Shiro says next, and Keith can just picture him with a thoughtful hand on his chin.

“Like what?” Allura presses.

“Does it really matter?” Jordan says quietly.

“Of course it does!” Allura exclaims. “What if these people are like, scamming Keith or something? This is just so fishy. I don’t trust them. The Flores or whatever.” Something tells Keith that Allura is currently sitting with her arms crossed and a pout on her face.

There’s a silence and Keith wonders for a bit if he should make his presence known. But something stops him. Jordan eventually speaks up.

“I used to have a crush on him, you know,” he says thoughtfully. “He has always been a good guy, but lately, he seems to have changed. He’s more confident, you know, more charming.” There’s a small pause. “And I think, in the end, the reason for his change is because he met someone. You know. Someone who helped him be more himself.”

“So you think that someone was this Lance?” Allura replies. Keith’s fingers tighten around the doorknob.

Jordan takes a few seconds to speak up again. “It could be.”

“Besides,” Shiro finally says. “I think Keith’s smart enough to not be catfished. Or whatever.”

Allura hums thoughtfully.

Jordan chuckles. “Yeah, he’s not stupid. He wouldn’t fall for someone who isn’t real.”

And there it goes again, Keith’s heart squeezing. _Fall for someone,_ Jordan’s words ring in his ears. Could it really be? _I can see why he_ liked _you_ , he hears Andy’s voice in his head. Could Lance really have? No. Nobody understands this… This almost literal connection that they had over the last two months. All the things they went through, going on about their daily lives literally being the other person. Everyone can simplify their lousy, complicated experience into _falling_ or _liking_ or _having a crush on._ And even though Keith appreciates his friend’s efforts trying to figure this out, in the end, they don’t know shit.

His friends fall back into silence, and Keith finally decides to open the door. When he walks in, all his friends’ eyes fall on him. He looks at Shiro, who is staring at him with a knowing look on his eye, an eyebrow raised, as if telling him _I know you were out there, Keith._ Keith feels the tips of his ears turn a bit red but he tries his best to ignore his cousin.

“Hey!” Allura says, way too cheerfully, sitting up from one of the beds. “How did it go with Andy?”

“Fine,” Keith says, moving to get his jacket out of his backpack. “I’m visiting the house with him.”

“What are you doing that for?” Jordan asks.

Keith takes a deep breath. “Dunno,” he says. “Reasons.” He must look really tired or something, since no one comments on his lackluster reply.

Shiro moves to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

Keith flashes him a soft smile. “Thanks, but… I feel like I need to do this alone.”

“Alright,” Shiro says, his eyes still laced with concern. “If you need something, just call me okay? I’ll go wherever you’re at.”

“Thank you,” Keith tells him earnestly, infinitely glad he’s not alone. His friends are always with him.

 

* 　　 　　　✵  　　 　 *.  
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It’s awkward, when Keith gets inside Andy’s car. There’s an indie song playing from the radio’s tinny speakers, but other than that, neither of them says a word. Keith can see the way that Andy’s hands are gripping the steering wheel, hard and tense. His turns are too sharp, and he drives past the bumps on the road at an alarming speed that makes Keith jump in his seat.

Keith fiddles with his bracelet as he watches the trees next to the road as they speed past them. Andy’s eyes keep flickering to Keith’s twitching fingers and the bracelet on his wrist, but still, no one says a thing.

Up, down, up, down. They drive up and down the hills that are faintly familiar to Keith. The sun glints orange on the lake. Keith spots some people carrying baskets of food and candles and flowers to their cars. Up, down, up, down. The trees get thicker, the sky gets darker and eventually, Andy stops the car. He gets out, slamming the door behind him with force, and Keith follows suit.

They walk for a few minutes, jumping over rocks, the road completely covered by dirt and some wild weeds until they get there. To the Flores’ house. Or where it used to be. A knot ties itself on Keith’s throat as he runs towards the ruins of this house. Andy doesn’t move.

There’s not much left, half of it covered by rocks and mud and overgrown greenery. This is not the beautiful house Keith knew. It’s broken. It’s a disaster zone. He can barely see the landmarks of the familiar structure. He can see how the upper floors had all caved in, only the garage and workshop retaining some of what Keith remembers of them. There’s some of the porch left, a bike’s wheel sticking out from under the mud. Lance’s bike. Keith’s breathing starts coming erratically but he closes his eyes, hearing Shiro’s voice in his head. In. Out. In. Out.

He stands there for what it seems like forever, trying hard to grasp the blurry memories he made while he was in Lance’s body. But nothing becomes clear. He must be definitely losing his mind. He’s sure he walked through this place a lot of times. But this is not it. This is not the place he knows, not anymore. He closes his eyes again, feeling a few tears escape his eyelids, sticking on his lashes.

“Are you done.” Andy’s voice rings out from behind him, tense and a bit angry. Keith turns around, spotting him a few yards behind him, arms crossed over his chest, eyes avoiding the house behind Keith.

“I--” Keith starts, turning back to the ruins once more when a flash of color catches his eye. “Wait,” he calls out and ventures nearer the house. There, next to the garage, a splash of orange and red. The cempasúchil flowers. The ones Keith had repotted with Dani and Marco and Abuela. They’d survived somehow, smaller and a bit drier than Keith remembered them, but still there. He kneels next to them, running his fingers through the petals before plucking the flowers out of the broken pots. When he has more than a handful, he stands up, dusting off the dirt and mud from his jeans. He heads towards Andy then, whose eyes are fixed on the makeshift bouquet on Keith’s hands.

“Tomorrow’s the second of November, right?” Keith says quietly, searching Andy’s eyes that have suddenly gotten soft. Keith clears his throat. “I think-- I think they’d like these, don’t you think?”

“Right,” Andy says, turning away. He motions for Keith to follow him back into the car, so he tags along.

The atmosphere in the car has shifted, somehow, as soon as Andy had turned it on and started backing away. It felt heavy, but not awkward or angry as it kind of did before.

“Um,” Keith starts. “Thank you.”

Andy mumbles something in reply, his voice gruff and unintelligible, but Keith doesn’t mind it that much. The sound of the radio station’s host talking in the background is all they hear for a while until Keith decides to speak up again. He clutches the flower stems in his hands tightly.

“I would really like to pay my respects to your family,” Keith tries again. “Can you point me to the cemetery?”

Andy shoots an unreadable look at him and he takes a few seconds to respond. “I’ll take you,” he says, looking at the road ahead.

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s fine,” Andy says, still not looking at Keith’s direction.

“Okay,” Keith says quietly. “Thanks.”

“I have to pick up Marco first,” Andy informs him. “Then I’ll drop you off.”

“O-- okay,” Keith repeats. The prospect of seeing Marco makes his heart do a little sad squeeze. He feels kind of nervous, not having expected to officially meet the youngest Flores after everything that’s happened today. Keith watches the streets of the small town outside the car window, sighing.

“Did, um, did Lance ever tell you why I was not around?” Andy asks, his fingers tightening around the wheel.

“Not really,” Keith answers, and he watches Andy open his mouth to say something but Keith speaks up before Andy actually gets a chance to get his words out. “You don’t have to.”

Andy shakes his head as he makes the car take a sharp turn. “My father wasn’t too happy when he found out I am gay.”

The words make Keith tense up, vaguely remembering Mr. Flores and his general attitude. Some memories come into focus on the front of his mind, like how tense the house always was when he got home from work. The looks from across the table, landing always on Lance’s wrist and his pride bracelet. He never really said much, not after that first night Keith had given him a piece of his mind, but he knew how Lance’s father wasn’t too happy about the whole situation.

“My father was never mean or aggressive, he just…” Andy sighs. “I felt like I couldn’t be myself in that house. He was always super tense and quiet when my boyfriend back then came over. It wasn’t just hard for me, but for him, too.”

Keith frowns. “How so?”

“Papá, he… changed a lot after Ma died,” Andy explains. “He never smiled anymore. I don’t think he remembered how to act around us, not like he did before.” Andy’s lips twitch into a bittersweet smile. “He used to joke around, you know? A really funny guy.” Keith can’t picture it at all, since all he can see in his mind’s eye is Mr. Flores’ serious face.

“He was just… really sad. And still trying his best,” Andy pauses, licking his lips. “I think he genuinely thought that me, my sexuality or whatever, was a phase, you know? Me trying to deal with Ma’s death by acting out.”

“Oh,” Keith mumbles.

“He didn’t have a problem with me being gay, per se, it was more like…” Andy sighs. “He was worried about what other people would think. He thought that me being openly gay would probably have negative repercussions on my future or whatever. Especially because I wanted to become a doctor and he was worried about me not getting patients or jobs over being gay. So he didn’t want me to be loud about it, especially because he was worried this might be a phase or whatever. I don’t know.” He pauses, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel to a more relaxed position, wrist draped over it, one hand moving to push his curls back from his face. “So when college was finally an option for me. I… I ran away.” Keith can see how Andy’s face starts twisting in regret. “I couldn’t stand it. I thought it was the best decision, you know, for both of us. I thought maybe distance would help a little. And every break, every vacation I really tried my best to come back, but… I couldn’t.

“And after a while, I just felt so ashamed for not coming back, you know? I couldn’t bring myself to come after being gone for a year or two.” Andy takes a deep shuddering breath. “I didn’t think Dani or Marco would get it, _¿sabes?_ They were too young to understand, I think. And like. Julie was pissed at me, you know, our older sister.” He chuckles bitterly. “Called me a coward over the phone a few times. I deserved that.

“But Lance, you know, he… he got it,” he says, sparing a glance at Keith who is watching him intently. “He wasn’t mad at me or anything. I do think he was sad about the whole thing, you know. He was my little brother. And like, we shared a room and everything for the longest time. He got me, and I got him. Knew me better than anyone. We were thick as thieves, you know.”

Keith smiles. “I can see that,” he says quietly.

Andy smiles a little. “He would call me every week or so just to check on me. I don’t think he ever mentioned it to Dani or Marco or Abuela. He knew they would get upset or something. So he just called me and asked me how med school was going, gave me advice on how to charm my dates…”

“That sounds like Lance,” Keith says and lets out a soft laugh.

“Yeah,” Andy says. “He… he was a nice kid, you know? My best friend.” He pauses. “I think… I think that’s why I gave you such a shitty attitude earlier, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Keith feels the need to say it, to try to make things right. “I’m sorry too, you know, for springing this up on you. I--”

“It’s fine,” Andy cuts in. “You just wanted answers, closure, whatever. I get it.” He hits the break softly, slowing down the car, and Keith knows they must be close to picking up Marco. “I think-- I think Lance would have wanted this.”

Keith smiles, thinking about Lance’s reaction to him and his brother hanging out, having a heart to heart, or whatever this is… It’s a bit weird, but nice, in a way. Keith actually felt a bit honored to be able to know more about the Flores’, about a facet of Lance that he didn’t quite know before, even if his insides kept twisting with too many emotions Keith couldn’t bring himself to explore.

“That night, you know, I got the call and they told me that Marco was still here, somehow, miraculously survived,” Andy starts again. “It was a rough couple of months for him, you know, staying at the hospital and stuff. But he’s a tough kid. And well, he’s the reason I finally came back. Dropped out of med school and all.”

Andy parks the car in front of a small house and runs his hands through his curls before he honks the horn. “I thought about getting him away from this place, after he recovered, but… he’s not the type to run away, you know, not like me.” Andy shoots Keith another of his bittersweet smiles. “Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to make him start over after all of this. At least here, well…  he has friends and people who care.”

The front door of the house cracks open and Keith sees a familiar figure step out. It’s Marco, with another kid clinging on him from his back, arms around Marco’s neck. Keith squints, making out the figure of a smiling girl, her blonde hair in two pigtails. Marco is blushing, trying to push her off.

“Is that-- is that Bianca?” Keith says, a disbelieving smile gracing his lips. It’s too late when he notices his slip, letting Andy know he knows too much, more than he probably should.

Andy frowns. “Yes,” he answers, voice tentative. “How do you know Bianc--”

Keith is saved by the bell, well, metaphorically so, as Marco has started sprinting towards the car. The kid janks the passenger side door open, and his eyes meet Keith’s. And Keith can’t help it, can’t stop the burn of tears as he looks at the boy in front of him. Keith blinks, willing his eyes to suck the moisture back in, or something, because he can’t cry in front of this kid. Who is not the kid Keith knows. Not anymore.

Yes, it’s Marco, with his curly brown hair and tan skin, dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks, but there’s an angry frown twisting his brows, and a scar that runs from his eyebrow, down his left eyelid, down his cheek. It’s white, stark against Marco’s brown skin, and the scar tissue around his lid probably limits his eye’s mobility. No longer wide and open, as Keith remembered those eyes. No longer attentive and curious and soft. Just fiery and angry, in a way that’s familiar to Keith. He’s seen that look before, in the mirror.

The door slams shut with force, startling Keith.

Marco climbs into the backseat, throwing his backpack into the car’s floor and glaring daggers at Keith through the rearview mirror. “Who the fuck is this?”

“ _Marco_ ,” Andy chides. “What have I told you about cursing?”

 _“Me vale,”_ he replies, crossing his arms over his chest and pushes his feet against Keith’s seat, digging them in.

“Don’t be rude,” Andy says, voice tired, as if he’s been repeating these words for a while. Keith thinks that’s probably accurate. “This is Keith.”

 _“Hola,”_ Keith says, turning around in his seat to shoot a smile at Marco. The kid rolls his eyes. It breaks Keith’s heart.

“What is he doing here?” Marco asks Andy, ignoring Keith.

Andy shoots an apologetic look at Keith. “He’s here to visit Lance,” Andy replies, turning the keys to start up the car.

“What for?” Marco asks again, voice angry and so very unlike the happy lilt that Keith once heard come from him. “He’s dead.”

Keith sucks in a breath. The words still feel like a knife to the heart.

“Marco,” Andy says again, sternly, gripping his hands on the wheel.

“It’s okay,” Keith murmurs, twisting his head on his seat to take a look at Marco once more. “I want to give him some flowers,” Keith explains kindly, showing Marco the makeshift bouquet in his hands.

Marco’s eyes slide to Keith. “They’re ugly,” he says bluntly.

“You think so?” Keith says, eyeing the red and orange flowers in his hand, as if examining them. “I think he’d like them.”

Marco just stares. And stares. And stares as Andy speeds around the lake on their way to the cemetery.

“Maybe,” Marco finally says, a pout on his lips, and turns to look outside the window. Keith counts this as a small victory, so he turns to sit back down properly and stare at the road in front of him.

The rest of the car ride is quiet, and when they get to the cemetery, Andy tells Marco to stay in the car. Both he and Keith step outside where there’s already a lot of people around, carrying baskets and candles and cempasúchil flowers. It’s to be expected, Keith guesses, that the cemetery would be busy at a night like this, right before _el Día de Muertos_ , in a town with such a dense Mexican population.

“Sorry about Marco,” Andy says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Keith shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” Keith says. “I know this must have been really hard on him.”

Andy hums a little, glancing back to the car and then turning to shoot yet another apologetic smile at Keith. He waves Andy off.

“I get it,” Keith finds himself saying, tongue feeling uncharacteristically loose. He thinks it maybe has got to do with the fact that Andy’s been completely honest with him, and Keith feels comfortable returning it in kind. “When Okaasan--my mother died, I was angry too.”

Keith sighs, looking at the lake, at the moon beginning to rise over the mountains. He feels Andy’s eyes on him, curious and apprehensive. Keith keeps going.

“I was older than Marco, too, and like, it was still hard to deal with it.” He bites his lip. “Still, I was too young, you know? To have like, the tools necessary or whatever to deal with such a loss. I had people supporting me, like my cousin and my uncle. They helped me work through the entire thing. The anger, the anxiety. Took me to therapy and all.” Keith turns to Andy, a soft smile on his face. “Marco’s lucky, you know, to have you as part of his support system. Deep down, he knows he’s not alone. And that counts for something.”

Andy nods, eyes slipping towards the lake, hands still in his pockets. “Did therapy help?” he asks Keith, voice showing genuine curiosity.

“Loads,” Keith replies. Andy nods once more, and Keith knows he’s considering the possibility to find a therapist for Marco, and maybe for himself too.

Andy then changes the topic, giving Keith directions to the family plot. Keith nods as he listens attentively. Go straight there, take a turn right when he reaches that tree… He thinks he’s got it.

“We’ve set up an altar already, you know,” Andy tells him, smile soft. “Even Julie and her kids came over into town last night to set it up this morning, with Marco and I. So the plot’s gonna be hard to miss, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Keith says. “For everything.”

Andy nods and holds out his hand. “Give me your phone,” he says. “So you can call me in case you need someone to pick you up.”

“Oh,” Keith says, fishing it out of his pocket and handing it to Andy who saves his number in with the contact name of Andrés Flores. “Thanks again.”

Andy nods at Keith once more and turns back to walk back into his car, where Marco had already moved up front into the passenger’s seat, feet on the dash. Keith watches them as they drive away before he starts his trek towards Lance’s grave.

Every step feels heavy, as if his heart is sinking in tandem. This is not… this is not what he expected when he bought his ticket to Altea last night. He hadn’t been ready for something like this. This isn’t what it was supposed to happen. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting exactly, but it was definitely not this. Not this whirlwind of a day, not these heavy steps, dry leaves cracking under his boots. A part of him feels like he’s dreaming, like this isn’t real, that he’s gonna wake up and stare at his white ceiling. Any minute now. Any… minute now.

One step, two steps. Keith feels his heart beating on his throat. Three steps, four steps. He can only hear his blood rushing in his ears and the faint, distant sound of the leaves crushing under his feet. Five steps, six steps. And Keith is faced with the hard, cold truth.

_Lance Alejandro Flores García_

_1999 - 2017_

_Beloved son, brother and friend._

Keith feels his legs start to shake, his knees grow weak, and suddenly he’s on the ground, scraped hands and scraped jeans. The pain is too real. This isn’t a dream. This isn’t a dream. Lance is dead. His body is cold, lifeless, on the ground under Keith. The thought feels like a dagger to the heart, like cold needles piercing his skin after jumping into an ice cold lake, filling up his lungs with water, making it hard to breathe. Lance is dead. When Andy’s shivering voice had said those words to Keith, a wild part of his brain had felt like maybe it wouldn’t be true. But now, kneeling here, in front of his grave, he wishes he had made that part of his brain shut up. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt this much, if he hadn’t been clinging to that impossible hope, that incredible denial.

Keith feels a sound akin to a wail escape his throat. He clutches the flowers in his hands with force. Hot, thick tears start slipping from his eyes, landing on the ground next to his hands like raindrops. He doesn’t understand this pain. It feels too big, too unbearable for his mind to process. Like his heart knows something his brain doesn’t. Like a piece of his soul has been ripped away from him without a warning.

Keith manages to calm down a little, hearing Shiro’s voice in his head asking him to breathe easy, to breathe steadily. He looks up from the ground, finally giving himself the time to look at the altar that had been set on top of the family grave. It’s huge and it has several levels, probably made out of cardboard boxes stacked on top of the other, covered by a deep blue cloth. Keith recognizes it, hand instinctively reaching out to touch the soft wool, to trace the butterfly flower pattern. _Lance_.

He takes another deep breath, eyes raking over the candles and sugar skulls, the cempasúchil flowers and the petals leading up to the installation like a road. There’s a picture on a colorful frame on the topmost level, eight bodies stacked close to each other on a couch too small for all of them, smiling faces all around. A family with arms around everyone, happy and carefree. Keith almost doesn’t recognize Mr. Flores in the middle, face unlined and content and relaxed, brown eyes fixed on a beautiful woman next to him. Keith thinks that must be Lance’s mom. She was a beautiful woman, with big brown curls that reached her shoulders. Keith can see the deep blue eyes that she gave most of her children, crinkled up in the way he’s seen Lance’s do, with a huge smile and two twin babies in her arms. Dani and Marco, faces pudgy and flushed, seemingly comfortable in their mother’s embrace. The parents are sandwiched up by their kids. Keith recognizes Andy’s teenaged face, freckled and acne riddled, an arm slung around his dad’s shoulder and one around his grandma. She looks a bit younger than Keith remembers her, most of her hair still black, sprinkled with some grey, but her smile is still as warm.

Keith’s eyes slide to the other side of the picture, where Julie is sitting next to her dad. She looks a lot like her mom, except she has her dad’s brown eyes and smile. And on her shoulder, there’s Lance, cheek squished up against it. He has braces with rubber bands that match his eyes. He looks so happy, alive, it hurts Keith’s heart. He has to look away, deciding to focus on the rest of the shrine’s elements.

There’s individual pictures of all the members of the Flores’ family being honored in the altar. He spots Dani’s picture, where she’s flashing her gap toothed smile. There are offerings for her around it. There’s some friendship bracelets, probably woven by herself or Marco or Rebeca, who Keith remembers was her best friend. There’s a teddy bear, too and a jug of Horchata and a plate of enfrijoladas. Next, Keith sees Abuela’s part of the shrine. There’s a tiny loom with a half knit scarf in it, a bottle of tequila with a shot glass next to it and a plate of _pollo en mole_. Keith feels so soft, thinking of Andy and Marco and Julie and her children cooking up these dishes as offerings for their family.

In the middle of the altar, there’s a picture of Lance’s mom, whose name is Andrea Cecilia García according to her grave. There’s a postcard of Varadero Beach in Cuba, propped up against the picture frame. Keith recognizes the dish that has been set out for her, ropa vieja and plantain tostones. There’s an open sketchbook next to the food. It looks old, and Keith thinks it was probably actually hers. A part of Keith feels like he’s intruding, like he’s peeking into the life of family that isn’t his. Next to a framed picture of Jaime Julián Flores, Lance’s father, is a worn out copy of _Cien años de soledad,_ by Gabriel García Márquez, along with a plate with tacos and a knitted scarf that was probably made by his mother.

Keith doesn’t feel prepared to look at Lance’s part of the altar, but he still does anyway, violet eyes finding the picture of the freckled boy, smiling, cross-eyed, tongue poking out. Keith’s heart does a painful flip as he turns his gaze to the offerings next to the frame. There’s a blue Nintendo controller and Keith knows that it was Hunk’s idea. He just does. There’s also a Naruto headband, which brings a smile to Keith’s face, knowing Lance would’ve loved it, knowing it was Pidge who did it. There’s one of Lance’s sketches of the lake, and a plate of some plain quesadillas.

“God,” Keith whimpers, his heart beating loud on his ears. “God, fuck.”

He leans back to sit on his feet, still clutching the flowers he can’t bring himself to let go of. And he cries. He cries and cries, feeling his face start to swell up. He brings a hand to his chest, as if he were trying to support the heavy weight that just settled next to his heart.

Keith doesn’t know how long he stays there. The crescent moon and the stars illuminate the graveyard, alongside the candles set on the several altars. The wind brings a chill with it, making Keith shiver in time with the rustling of the leaves. The candles flicker stubbornly, not allowing the wind to extinguish them. Keith looks around, finding that a light fog has settled all over the place. It looks eerie, almost magical. With this atmosphere, Keith can understand the Mexican tradition better. He feels like yeah, the ghosts of the people around him could pop up at any moment, following the cempasúchil trails to their offerings. It wouldn’t be surprising at all.

It must be getting late, though, so Keith takes his phone out of his pocket to check the hour. It’s literally midnight, his friends must be getting worried. He should probably start heading back. He doesn’t think he’s gonna call Andy to pick him up, though, he doesn’t wanna drag him back into this place when it must be really hard for him.

He sighs, putting his phone back in his pocket and looking at the flowers in his left hand. It’s time, he thinks. It’s time to say goodbye. He takes yet another deep breath and leans forward to set the flowers on top of Lance’s name on his gravestone. He pauses, not quite ready to let go of the bouquet, until his fingers start loosening up, little by little, and he drops the flowers. One of them tangles itself up on his bracelet, and Keith feels a weird tug. He untangles the flower from his bracelet, and he gets struck by the idea that maybe… maybe he should give it to Lance. It feels right, so he starts to try and untie it from his wrist, but the knot is hard. Keith doesn’t think he’s taken this bracelet off in months, so he pulls on the loose ends, trying to set it free.

He notices a red string in between the frayed threads of the bracelet after the knot. He doesn’t think he’s seen it before, so he frowns, and tugs. And tugs. And tugs. There’s so much of it, no end to it. Keith finds himself holding meters upon meters of red string in his hands, and when he tries to pick it up, wind it up into a neat ball, he realizes he can’t find the beginning, or the end. His brows furrow, noticing how the red string is not only sitting on his lap, between his fingers, but it’s all around him, enveloping him and dancing around him before disappearing into the night.

Biting his lip, Keith pulls, and suddenly his vision explodes with a thousand different colors, before it settles into a bright white. He realizes there’s no ground beneath his feet. His body is floating around in a seemingly never ending room, kind of resembling a white canvas. Around him, there’s thick air. Air so thick he feels like he could swim in it. Moving his fingers feels like rolling down the windows in a moving car and stretching a hand outside to feel the wind getting thicker and thicker as the car speeds.

Keith is freaking the fuck out, he wants to scream but there’s no sound coming from his lips. All of the sudden, he hears a faint noise, but he feels like he can’t pinpoint the source. It’s coming from all around. It starts growing louder, pulsing, and Keith feels his body vibrating with the sound. His heart pumping alongside it.

 _Oh_. It’s a heartbeat. And he’s beating in sync.

The sound increases in Keith’s ears, and some of the liquid air around him becomes a fog that starts forming shapes. It starts growing color, flourishing structures, cultivating density.

He’s in a hospital room. Keith can see it now, though it blurs at the edges of his vision, the fog fraying and disappearing into the bright canvas white. The colors are… a bit off. A bit too bright, a bit too saturated. Keith blinks. There’s a steady beeping coming from an old looking machine next to the bed. The fog is settling, heavy on the bed, and Keith sees a woman. Blue eyes, full of tears and sweat on her forehead. Someone is holding her right hand, and her left hand is reaching out to a foggy bundle next to her.

Keith leans in, catching the sight of the familiar woman smiling brightly, eyes crinkling. Her hand, still reaching out, catches something. A tiny hand, outstretched, coming from the bundle next to her.

“Lance,” Keith hears her say as if from far away. It’s the most tender sound Keith has ever heard. _“Bebé, te llamas Lance.”_

It takes Keith’s breath away.

 _“¿Lo puedo cargar?_ Can I hold him? Please, _Maaa,”_ a kid’s voice says next to Keith. It’s… Andy. Keith sees him literally materialize next to him. It’s still unnerving.

 _“Yo pedí primero,_ I was here first! _”_ Julie says, coming into being as well.

“ _Su hermano no es un juguete.”_ It’s Mr. Flores’ voice, chiding but fond, but Keith can’t see him because the scene is disappearing before his eyes. It’s like a wave washing everything away, including him. Keith feels like he’s rolling underwater, under the waves, and when he finally comes up for air, another scene is becoming solid from the fog before his eyes.

A baby’s laugh envelops him. The fog settles into a familiar setting. It’s the Flores’ living room, Mexican rustic furniture, colorful cushions and blankets strewn all over. A six year old, a curly haired boy is slowly walking backwards with his arms stretched in front of him. His hands are covered by another pair of them, tiny, pudgy hands. It’s a beautiful baby boy, wearing only his diapers, taking tentative steps towards the older kid.

 _“¡Mamá! ¡Papá!”_ The six year old screeches, his blue eyes fixed on the baby in front of him, crinkling as they do. _“¡Está caminando!”_

 _“¿Quéee?”_ a loud voice echoes from the kitchen.

“Lance is _walking!”_ Andy screams louder, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“Julián! _¡Ve por la cámara!”_ the voice--Lance’s mom’s voice. And she’s there, suddenly, opening the kitchen door and rushing to the living room with a huge smile on her face.

Keith’s eyes linger on the baby-- Lance. His shaky steps, his wild giggling. It’s the only thing he can see before he’s swept away again, into a new scene, the same room.

Christmas music starts rising around Keith, lights flickering on the Christmas tree in the corner. He can almost smell the scent of the pine tree and the apples and the cinnamon. This time a joyful Mr. Flores is carrying a blue eyed toddler on his shoulders. He’s dancing around the living room, twirling and laughing, pretending he’s dropping the boy that’s sitting on his shoulders, grinning when he squeals and fists his tiny hands into Mr. Flores’ hair to not let himself.

“ _Papáaaaa_ ,” Lance is screaming between laughs. Keith spots Lance’s mom leaning against the doorframe, twirling a glass of wine between her fingers. Her brown hair looks wild, curls falling over her face, her red, red face that’s been transformed by the widest smile Keith has ever seen. Her eyes look so tender, so soft, so in love.

 _“¡Te estoy diciendo que se va a caer, Julián!”_ Abuela’s sharp voice threatens Mr. Flores, who just laughs and laughs and laughs alongside his children, alongside his wife. He eventually puts Lance down and walks towards Andrea, extending a hand and pulling her into a soft dance around the living room, bumping into the furniture and laughing, eyes only for each other. Lance just stares from his seat next to the Christmas tree, eyes wide and sparkling, never leaving the slow spinning of his parents.

Keith finds himself smiling at the beautiful memory, because he understands it now, what he’s seeing. It’s Lance’s life and he is watching it happen.

The fog surrounds him once again, and Keith’s in a room that he’s never been to before. A 9 year old Lance is laying in bed, on top of his mother, rising and falling in sync with her breathing. His mother’s hands play with Lance’s hair, and Keith watches Lance carefully poke Mrs. Flores’ swollen, round tummy.

“So I’m gonna be a big brother?” he asks with wide eyes.

Mrs. Flores nods with that tender smile of hers. “And they’re two, Lancito,” she adds.

Lance’s eyes open and his lips make a perfect o shape.

“ _¡¡¡Voy a ser doble hermano!!!_ ” he yells with excitement that makes his mother burst into laughter.

Keith barely blinks when the scene changes again. They’re back in the hospital and Lance is jumping excitedly around his mother’s bed. She looks exhausted, sweaty but happy.

 _“¿Ya? ¿Ya? ¿Ya puedo?”_ Lance is saying.

Mr. Flores smiles at his son. “Go sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair next to the hospital bed. Lance obeys happily, sitting down, feet barely touching the ground, and Mr. Flores moves to go pick up a baby from one of the cribs in the room. It’s a pink bundle that he places on Lance’s arms.

The boy’s eyes go wide, his small hand moving to touch the baby’s face. “She’s so tiny,” he says, voice filled with awe.

“Think you can handle two?” Mr. Flores says, cradling a baby swaddled a blue blanket.

Lance nods excitedly, shifting Dani carefully in his arm to accommodate the second baby in the other. He holds them both, carefully, both eyes wide and mouth open.

Julie suddenly materializes next to Keith, a camera in hand. “Lance, _sonríe,”_ she says in a sing song voice, moving the camera to her face, closing one eye, tongue poking out in concentration. Lance grins, crooked teeth showing, and the camera shutter clicks.

As the camera makes a noise, the fog rises again before Keith’s eyes. It settles down again in a similar hospital room, this time with Mrs. Flores in the bed by herself. The atmosphere is different than the other times, the fog greyer and denser, making it hard to breathe.

Keith feels a shock when he has the time to examine Mrs. Flores on the bed. He would not have recognized her if it weren’t for her perpetual smile, eyes crinkling when her kids enter the room. Her beautiful brown hair is gone, replaced by an angry red scar on her scalp, and the light in her eyes is dimmer. She looks exhausted, and Keith knows that the kids around her notice that too.

 _“Hola corazones,”_ she says, voice weak as she tries to sit up on the bed. Mr. Flores is suddenly by her side, holding her hand, helping her up and fluffing up the pillows behind her. She smiles at her husband gratefully and her eyes flicker to her three children, pulling up chairs to sit down next to her. _“¿Y Dani y Marco?”_ she asks.

 _“Con mamá,_ ” Mr. Flores replies, referring to Abuela. His voice sounds weak, as exhausted as Andrea’s. From her seat on the bed, she nods.

“Ma,” Lance pipes up, catching her attention. He has a piece of paper in his arms, which he extends to her. “I made this for you.”

Keith watches Andrea’s eyes fall on the beautiful sketch in her hands. It’s really good, especially for a thirteen year old. It’s a beach, sunny, warm. Mrs. Flores smiles up at her son.

“Lancito,” she says. “This is really good! You’re improving so much!”

Lance glows under the praise of his mother, a smile gracing his lips. “I made this because I know you miss Cuba and like, maybe, when you get better we can all take you there and visit!” he says proudly, and he watches his mother’s face crumble.

“ _Oh_ Lance,” Mrs. Flores says, tears spilling quickly from her eyes. She pulls Lance towards her and she wraps her arms around him. “Lance, _bebé_ , I’m so sorry.” She sobs into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

The scene washes itself away, leaving Keith feeling empty like the room he’s suddenly standing in. Lance is in front of him, blue eyes rimmed with red, looking handsome in his black suit. He’s standing outside a door, listening to the conversation going on behind it.

“I couldn’t help her, Mamá,” Mr. Flores is saying, his voice breaking. Keith can’t see him, but he can tell that he’s crying.

“Julián,” Abuela’s voice says softly. _“No es tu culpa.”_ There’s a long pause, and Lance is just standing there, face stoic, hands clenched into fists. “But you have to be strong for your kids now. They need you.”

 _“Es que no sé-- No sé hacerlo sin Andrea._ I can’t do this without Andrea.” Mr. Flores sounds so drained, filled with an indescribable grief. Keith watches as Lance’s face contorts, his knees giving out and he’s suddenly on the floor and Keith-- Keith reacts instinctively, reaching out to Lance. His hand is so close to touching Lance’s shoulder when he dissolves right before Keith’s eyes.

The heavy mist wraps around Keith again, bringing him into the familiar room with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. Lance is sitting on his bed, watching Andy zip up his bags, emptying the room of everything that is his, leaving no trace of himself behind. Andy is sobbing, his body shaking, and Keith can tell that it’s scaring Lance a little.

“Andy,” Lance speaks up, voice uneasy. He stands up from his bed, walking towards his brother who wraps his arms around Lance in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of Lance.

“It’s okay, you know, dude, you’ll come back on Christmas,” Lance says, sniffling, patting Andy’s back. Andy pulls away from Lance then, and when he looks at his little brother straight in the eye, Lance knows. Lance knows he’s not coming back.

And for what feels like the millionth time, the scene dissolves again in front of Keith, not leaving a spare second for him to react or feel anything.

He’s suddenly standing in Abuela’s workshop, Lance standing a few feet in front of her.

 _“Ven, ándale”_ , she says. When he walks towards her, Abuela places a hand on his freckles cheek and grins. She places something on Lance’s hands, and Keith sees it. The bi pride bracelet he’s seen on Lance’s wrist, and Keith feels a tug on his own. Keith frowns, lifting up his left hand to his face, examining his own bracelet and what the fuck--

The liquid air around him spins him around again, and Keith is suddenly watching the past two months play out in front of him. Lance discovering Keith’s handwriting on his notebook. The rules. The messages inked on skin. Lance’s smiles as he listens to Keith’s voice messages. Pages upon pages of Slaughterhouse Five. Scribbled post-its. A burnt Star Wars t-shirt. Everything that happened, happening again.

“Oh,” Lance says once he pops into smokey being next to Keith in Lance’s own room. “Today’s the date.”

Lance is getting ready for school, tying up his shoes. “I wonder… I wonder how they’re doing.”

Lance walks towards the mirror, grabbing his comb to tame his curls but something stops him. And Keith sees Lance’s big blue eyes be filled with tears. The brown haired boy frowns, touching his cheek. “Why--why am I crying?”

Squeaky Converse on the wet pavement.

“So Lance, you coming?” Pidge materializes next to Keith, sitting on her bike with one foot on the ground.

“Agh, man, I can’t.” Lance replies, a hand on the back of his neck. “I promised the twins we’d watch a movie tonight.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow though?” Hunk says, popping up from the ground next to Lance, a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, definitely,” Lance says with a grin, hopping on his bike and pedaling away. Up, down, up, down, all the way to his house. It starts raining, thundering, hard.

“Lance, no!” Keith finds himself screaming. “You gotta get out of there, please, listen!”

Keith sees Lance and Dani and Marco cuddled up on the couch together, under some blankets, popcorn bowl in hand. There’s a loud crack outside, making Dani jump and tighten her arms around Lance.

“Come on, Dani, don’t be scared. It’s just some thunder,” Lance says, rubbing a soothing hand on Dani’s back.

Keith watches it all happen. Watches how the twins fall asleep in the middle of the movie. Watches how Lance turns off the TV and picks up his younger siblings. Watches Lance as he tucks them into bed, soft kisses on their temples. Watches Abuela finish tidying up her workshop, heading towards her room. Keith watches it all happen. He watches the mountain swallow up the house. Keith’s screams falling on deaf ears.

And then Keith’s view cuts to black. It feels like he’s been hit in the head twenty thousand times. His body feels heavy. He can’t see a thing.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

Lance.

Lance.

It’s Lance.

Keith wakes up with a gasp.

There are stars on the ceiling, and tears in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
> ¿Sabes? - You know?  
> Me vale - I don’t care  
> Pollo en mole - A typical mexican dish that consists of chicken dripped in a traditional sauce called mole  
> Bebé, te llamas Lance - Baby, your name is Lance  
> ¿Lo puedo cargar? - Can I hold him?  
> Yo pedí primero - I asked first  
> Su hermano no es un juguete - Your brother is not a toy  
> ¡Está caminando! - He’s walking!  
> ¡Ve por la camara! - Get the camera!  
> ¡Te estoy diciendo que se va a caer, Julián! - I’m telling you, he’s going to fall, Julián!  
> ¡¡¡Voy a ser doble hermano!!! - I’m going to be a double brother!  
> ¿Ya? ¿Ya? ¿Ya puedo? - Now? Now? Can I?  
> Hola corazones - Hi, sweethearts  
> ¿Y Dani y Marco? - And Dani and Marco?  
> Con mamá - With mom  
> No es tu culpa - It’s not your fault  
> Es que no sé-- No sé hacerlo sin Andrea - It’s just that I don’t know-- I don’t know how to do this without Andrea  
> Ven, ándale - Come on


	8. viii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes up as Lance again, with a mission this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! We're really sorry this chapter took so long to put out. Both Mar and I left the country for two weeks and it kinda fucked up our updating schedule.
> 
> however! this chapter has a special surprise at the end :) as well the translations.
> 
> Hopefully we'll be back to updating regularly now that we're both home and we have the whole summer ahead of us. 
> 
> We're finally at the last part of this fic! 
> 
> -lil0urry

Keith Kogane has become unstuck in time. Or at least that’s how he feels. Not in an incoherent, feverish way, the way Billy Pilgrim from Slaughterhouse-Five did. But he’s definitely become unstuck.

He just saw Time unraveling in front of him, twisting and snapping, before and after him. He felt Space unfolding with him, twisting and blurring, washing itself away like a wave. He was invited to peek into Lance’s life, he had a front row seat. He witnessed it’s ups, downs. Up, down. Like the pedals, like the hills.

This whole thing makes his brain feel like a scrambled puzzle, he can even feel his head pulsing, some foggy memories still flashing through his mind. The stars on the ceiling start blurring because Keith can’t help it. He starts crying.

He runs his hands through Lance’s hair, runs the tips of his fingers through Lance’s face, mapping out every line, every curve. It feels strange, in a way, after not being in Lance’s body for so long. But it’s so comforting after everything that just happened. Still, he can’t stop the tears cascading down his cheeks, filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety, happiness and sadness. It’s almost too much.

But if he’s certain on one thing is that he’s grateful to be back. He doesn’t know how much he missed the Flores’ household until now, so he sits up on the bed and takes a moment to look around the room: the seat by the window, the color coded wardrobe, the empty bed next to him, Lance’s sketches, his clean desk. He takes a moment to breathe in the familiar smell of the clean bed sheets, the wooden house, and… Lance’s overwhelming vanilla scent. Fuck. Keith doesn’t even realize he’s wrapped Lance’s arms-- his arms around himself in a warm embrace.

“Laaaaance, we’re gonna be late for school, what is taking you so lon-” the youngest Flores is saying from the doorway. An image of an angry, scared Marco from last night flashes through Keith’s mind, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the wave of feelings that just washed over him.

“What the--” Marco says in a quiet, terrified voice when he takes a proper look at Keith. Keith’s eyes widen when he meets the youngest Flores’ stare. Out of impulse, Keith stumbles off the bed, dragging some of the sheets with him as he makes his way towards Marco.

“Maaarco…” Keith wails, reaching out to take the kid into his arms.

 _“Qué pedo,”_ Marco deadpans, stepping out of Keith’s reach and shutting the door on his face.

Yeah, he must’ve looked scary, Keith thinks as he rubs his eyes. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and he can hear Marco’s rushed footsteps down the hall.

 _“Se volvió loco,”_ Marco is yelling.

 _“Cállate, Marco,”_ Dani screams back. “It’s too early for this.”

“Our brother is a madman!” Marco shouts, eliciting a snort from Keith. He’s missed them so much. Keith can’t even begin to describe the relief he feels, the way his heart keeps squeezing with a bunch of overwhelming feelings. He manages to stand up, a bit shakily, and decides to make the bed.

Keith makes his way to the color coded wardrobe and chooses the ugliest Star Wars shirt available with a smile. After peeking out the curtains and seeing the dark rain clouds hovering above, he reaches out for a green jacket that seems to be waterproof. His mind can’t stop thinking about the day he has ahead. Fuck, he has to save the Flores family and he has no idea how. His mind is so occupied by this that he doesn’t even do Lance’s morning skincare routine, doesn’t fix his messy bedhead. He just walks downstairs, feeling in a bit of a daze, and the scene he finds almost makes him tear up again.

It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, just Abuela quietly making breakfast and the twins quickly setting up the table. He just didn’t think he was going to be able to see this again, see these people alive and well. Keith’s frozen on the doorway, taking the scene in, smelling _el huevo con chorizo_ that Abuela is cooking up, listening to Dani and Marco’s lighthearted banter.

 _“Buenos días mijo, ¿cómo dormiste?”_ Abuela gives Keith a tender smile when she notices him by the doorframe, and then immediately frowns when she takes a proper look at him. _“¿No te vas a peinar?”_

 _“Te dije que se volvió loco,”_ Keith hears Marco whisper to Dani.

“Oh, um,” Keith starts, fingers combing through his hair to try and make it look presentable. “Better?”

Abuela frowns but nods, moving to flip the tortillas in the comal. Keith takes a seat on the table, not saying a word when Abuela puts a plate in front of him. He starts eating, mind elsewhere, eyes unfocused as he tries to come up with a plan to do something about the landslide tonight but he can’t think of anything. A noise of frustration makes its way out his throat and suddenly he’s aware of everyone’s eyes on him.

“Lance?” Dani speaks up, chewing on her lip worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, oh, yeah! Yeah,” Keith says and gives his taco another bite, his gaze escaping from Lance’s siblings concerned looks. He devours the rest of his breakfast, eager to carry on with the mess of a day that awaits for him. Keith stands up and collects everyone’s plates to put them on the sink, quickly washing the dirty dishes to help Abuela.

After brushing their teeth and grabbing their school backpacks, Dani, Marco and Keith say goodbye to Abuela.

 _“¡Espérense!”_ she yells from the kitchen and joins them at the front door. She starts with Dani first, zipping up her yellow raincoat and placing the hood over her head before she gives her a kiss on her forehead. She moves to do the same to Marco who complains loudly the whole time, a blush on his cheeks.

 _“Ya, Abuela,”_ he whines. “We’re already late.”

 _“Más vale tarde que nunca,”_ Abuela tells him, patting his cheek and then turns to look at Keith. She meets his eyes, and Keith feels like she’s staring right into his soul. She doesn’t say anything as she zips his jacket up, eyes still locked on his. Keith can’t read the look in her eyes, and he kind of wants to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

 _“Gracias,”_ Keith murmurs, eyes flickering to the ground. Abuela looks like she wants to say something, and it makes Keith nervous for some reason. She opens her mouth, but closes it, hesitating. Dani and Marco are getting really antsy next to them, but neither Keith nor Abuela move.

 _“A ti,”_ she finally says. _“Gracias a ti.”_

Keith shoots her a quizzical look, and Abuela just smiles with that knowing smile and a smart gleam to her eye. _She knows._ Keith feels like she knows. He doesn’t know how, but she does.

“What for?” Keith asks anyway.

“For taking care of my family,” she tells him in a heavily accented English. Keith’s breath catches. Abuela smiles at him kindly, pinching his cheek lovingly. _“Ya váyanse, con cuidado,”_ she continues, and she gives them all _la bendición._ Keith’s seen her do that before, something Catholics call the sign of the holy cross, and though Keith isn’t a religious person, there’s just something sweet about the gesture that makes his lips curl into a smile.

“Alright, kiddos,” Keith tells the twins. “Let’s go.”

They all head to the garage, picking up their bikes and helmets. Keith makes the twins wear them despite their complaining, arguing that it’s more dangerous to ride today because of the rain and wet pavement.

Together, they start riding to school, their bikes skidding dangerously whenever they pedal downhill. Keith is quiet, his mind still going a million miles an hour, only half-listening to Marco talk about Bianca’s latest antics.

“Ey, Lance,” Dani says as they arrive to the elementary school’s street. “We’re doing the movie tonight, right?”

Keith smiles, remembering the image of Lance curled up with the twins in their sofa, of Lance tucking the twins into bed. “Yeah, _beba_ ,” Keith tells her, having picked up on Lance’s nickname for her. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Star Wars!” Marco says excitedly. Keith frowns, but he’s really not surprised. He doesn’t really want to watch that movie, but he guesses he can bear it. For the twins’ sake.

“But I’m picking which one,” Keith says.

“Ay, no, you’re gonna make us watch The Phantom Menace again,” Dani moans and Keith starts laughing. Once again, he is not surprised.

“Nah, let’s watch The Force Awakens,” Keith says. Oscar Isaac is hot, okay. His presence in the movie makes it worth watching, every minute.

“Yeah!” Marco says with a grin. “I love Rey. I wanna be like her when I grow up.”

Keith’s heart is soft. “That’s great, buddy,” he says, braking his bike as they pull up in front of the twins’ school.

“Have a good day, guys!” Keith tells them, waving.

“Stop, that’s embarrassing,” Dani mutters. Keith just smiles.

He really needs to find a way to save them.

 

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“I’m going to kill you, Flores,” Pidge says as soon as she spots him.

“Oh yeah, it’s really great to see you too, Pidge,” Keith replies, rolling his eyes.

“Please tell me you have the report,” Hunk says, gripping the strap of his backpack anxiously. Keith feels himself pale.

“Lance!” Pidge screams, her fingers curled up in frustration. She looks like she might strangle him. Keith backs away on instinct.

“Class started ten minutes ago and we can’t go in without it,” Hunk says.

“We’ve been working on this stupid ecology project for months!” Pidge rants. Keith’s aware of that, and he feels extremely guilty for not knowing its due date.

“I-- I didn’t know it was due today,” Keith mumbles, hand moving to fidget with his bracelet out of habit. He frowns. It’s not there?

“You literally said you’d print it before you went to bed, what the hell man?” Pidge continues.

“Um,” Keith says, dropping to his knees to examine the contents of Lance’s backpack. “Maybe Lance put it in here last night,” he mutters to himself as he starts taking out Lance’s books out of the bag.

“What?” Hunk says, looking down on him with a frown.

“You’re acting weird again,” Pidge starts saying, her face twisting from anger to concern.

“Uh.” Keith feels nervous under his friends’ gazes, so he chooses to focus on finding the paper in Lance’s bag instead. “Weird?”

“Yeah, dude, like, you forgot our friendaversary,” Hunk says, sounding a little hurt.

“And then you decided to randomly run to San Francisco?” Pidge continues. “What the fuck is up with that? And now-- and now this!”

San Francisco is all that rings in Keith’s ears, and everything else just falls into the background. “Wait, Lance went to San Francisco?” He finally looks up to Lance’s friends.

“What the fuck dude,” Pidge says.

Hunk frowns. “Yeah,” he tells Keith. “ _You_ did.”

“When?” Keith asks, not even caring to keep up appearances anymore. He _needs_ to know. Pidge and Hunk share a look, both of their faces lined with concern and confusion.

“A week before Halloween…” Pidge answers tentatively.

“Oh my god,” Keith breathes out.

“Are you sure you’re okay, man?” Hunk asks, dropping to his knees in the hallway next to Keith. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith feels extremely guilty after he flinches.

“I’m-- I--” Keith starts, starting to feel a little bit panicked. He can’t deal with this right now, not today, not when he has a mission that he still has no idea how to accomplish. Keith lets a small, stressed noise escape his throat. His shaking hands are still inside the backpack, and he sighs in relief when his fingers curl around the paper.

“It’s here,” he tells Pidge and Hunk, handing the report to them.

“Thank fuck,” Pidge says, taking it from his hands. “Let’s go to class. We’ll talk about this later,” she tells him.

Keith nods shakily, stuffing Lance’s things back on his bag and stands up when Hunk offers him a hand. Keith shoots him a small smile, trying to ease the worry etched on Hunk’s expression.

“We’ll talk about this,” Hunk repeats.

Keith guesses there’s no way to escape this, so he nods again as they step inside their classroom. The teacher scolds them for being late but accepts the paper anyway and continues with her lecture. Keith can’t focus on whatever the class is on. His fingers are twitching, wishing he had his bracelet to fiddle with.

He remembers Andy saying something about Lance and San Francisco when they spoke at the bar. And now, Pidge and Hunk mentioned that Lance actually visited San Francisco. Why? Why did he do it?

Keith’s so frustrated. He just doesn’t _understand_. He still feels like he’s missing something, and it’s so annoying. He puts his head in his hands and stays like that for the rest of the class. He feels like today is gonna end up completely frying his brain.

When the bell rings, Keith jumps up and he’s met by Pidge and Hunk at the door of their classroom. Pidge grabs him by his jacket’s sleeve and drags him to the library, Hunk following suit. They head towards a quiet, secluded corner, nestled between bookshelves, and drop their bags on the floor. After they check if they’re truly alone, Pidge turns to Keith, arms crossed, looking impatient.

“Explain,” Pidge says.

Keith doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know what to say. He finally has the chance to get some help in this situation, but he has nothing. He kind of feels stupid for dwelling in Lance going to San Francisco during class instead of coming up with a story to tell his friends. His mind is blank.

“Listen, man,” Hunk starts. “We’re just worried about you. But we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

Keith sighs, running his hand through Lance’s curls. “Okay,” he sighs again, trying to gain some composure. “This is going to sound really crazy, but, um… You know how it’s been raining a lot?”

“U-huh…” Pidge says slowly, gesturing for him to continue.

“So, um.” Keith’s stuck again. “Fuck.”

“Just let it out, man, we’re not judging,” Hunk encourages him.

 _Fuck it_ , Keith thinks. They’re Lance’s best friends. He can trust them. “Something terrible is going to happen tonight.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Well that’s cryptic.”

Hunk elbows her, but his eyes never leave Keith. “What do you mean something terrible?” he asks.

Keith takes a deep breath and he just blurts it out. “There’s gonna be a landslide that’s gonna destroy my whole house and we’re all gonna die.”

Pidge and Hunk just blink. Keith can tell they’re both a bit skeptical about this, but the relief that came from saying it out loud makes him keep talking, uncaring of what his friends might be thinking of right now.

“I don’t know what to do,” he keeps going, voice breaking. “I need to get everyone out of the house. But I don’t know how. I can’t just, you know, go in and tell them all like ‘oh we’re all gonna die tonight if we stay here’ like who’s gonna believe me? Certainly not my dad.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. “I’m just. Scared. And frustrated. And I don’t know what to do.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, save for Keith’s heavy breathing. His eyes are focused on Lance’s shoes, and he can’t bring himself to look at Hunk and Pidge, feeling terrified about their reaction. His whole body is tense, and Keith kind of feels like he might start crying again and he hates that feeling. He hates it.

Keith moves a trembling hand to tug on Lance’s hair again when all at once, he finds himself surrounded by warmth. Strong arms wrap around his body, pressing him close to Hunk’s chest. He lets out a shaky breath, his own arms moving to hug Hunk tighter, feeling some of the anxiety in his chest start to loosen up.

To his surprise, Pidge joins in on the hug, her small frame pressed against both Keith and Hunk. After blurting out the truth, it all feels a little bit more easy. And he curses himself for taking so long to let Hunk and Pidge in. He feels warm, safe and supported, and suddenly saving the Flores’ tonight feels more like a possibility rather than a dream.

Pidge breaks away from the hug first, and she moves to pick up her bag from the floor. She shoulders it, and turns to look at Keith and Hunk with an impatient look on her eye.

“What are you guys waiting for? We need to get going,” she tells them.

“Huh?” Hunk says.

“Well, Lance still has to explain this whole thing further,” she says, matter-of-factly. “And we need to come up with a plan.”

Keith smiles.

 

“I can’t believe we’re skipping,” Hunk says as they sneak into Pidge’s house, hoping Mrs. Holt is out. Pidge said that her mom was probably out with her book club, but she wasn’t sure.

Keith and Hunk watch as Pidge tiptoes to check the rooms, finding them thankfully empty, before they head to the basement. They all plop down on the couch, and Pidge looks at Keith expectantly, waiting for him to do a little more explaining.

“I mean, it’s not unlikely,” Hunk says. “Landslides and rockslides have happened here before. Nothing like what you say has happened though. When we were twelve there was this rockslide right outside of town and blocked the road for weeks, remember that?”

“Yeah!” Keith says. “It’s not unheard of.”

“And well, yeah,” Pidge starts, a thoughtful finger on her chin. “We have had a few minor earthquakes this year that could have loosened stuff up in the mountains and well, the rain.”

Keith is glad his friends believe him, and that he didn’t really have to explain the whole switching bodies and travelling in time mess. He feels like that would’ve made him sound even crazier.

“But um,” Pidge says, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

“I just _do,_ okay,” Keith replies, looking at Pidge with wide eyes. “I know it sounds crazy but _please,_ trust me.”

Hunk puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder and smiles. “We do, buddy,” he says, a small smile curling on his lips. Keith can’t help but smile back.

“What are we gonna do?” Pidge asks. “How are we gonna get your family out?”

“Uh,” Keith starts, trying to come up with something for like the thousandth time that day. “It has to be something that’s gonna wake them up, probably, since, you know, it’s happening at night. And we can’t get them out too early otherwise my father’s just gonna wanna come back.”

“So it’s gotta be something that we can control and that’s gonna keep your family out for a while,” Pidge says, counting off the conditions with her fingers. “And it can’t be too dangerous.”

“What about a gas leak?” Hunk suggests.

“Dude, no, that’s too dangerous,” Keith says, shaking his head. He doesn’t want anyone to accidentally end up being intoxicated by gas. “Maybe a small flood? Break some pipes and stuff.”

“No, I don’t think that’s strong enough to head them out,” Pidge replies.

“Small fire?”

“Hunk, no, my house is mostly built out of _wood,”_ Keith reminds him. “There’s no way to actually control it.”

“No offense, but your ideas suck so far,” Pidge tells Hunk, who pouts in response.

“Fudge you, Pidge,” Hunk says. “You’re not even suggesting anything. And I thought that the smoke would draw everyone out.”

“You’re right,” Keith says, but for the life of him, he can’t come up with something else.

“Smoke, huh?” Pidge says quietly. “What if we made them _believe_ there’s a fire?”

“How are you gonna do that?” Hunk asks.

“Smoke bombs,” Pidge answers, smiling mischievously.

“That might… that might actually work,” Keith says, lips mirroring Pidge’s smile.

“You’re a genius!” Hunk tells her.

“I know,” she replies.

They get to work quickly after that, googling everything they need to build the smoke bombs. Pidge suggests they can also include some stink bombs in their plan so that the smell might drive everyone away as well. They hop on their bikes after that, riding all the way to the general store to get all the supplies they need.

Keith has never seen the general store before, even though it’s not easy to miss since it’s so big. But whenever the Flores’ needed to shop they went to Walmart, but Pidge refuses to give money to that capitalist monster, so the general store is their only option. It’s a little ways away from the town’s main street, so they have to pedal around the lake for a few minutes, rain soaking them through.

Keith can’t help but remember the last time he was on this road, when Andy drove him to the cemetery, Marco in the backseat. The memory makes his heart give a strange lurch, and he finds himself pedaling with more determination. There’s no way he’s gonna let that happen. He can’t. He needs to save the Flores, and with Pidge and Hunk riding beside him, he feels like he actually can. And he will.

They park their bikes outside the store and head inside. They decide to split to gather their supplies faster, and as Keith walks through the aisles, he feels his anxiety flare up again. It’s happening. He can’t fail.

Out of habit, he reaches for his bracelet, being disappointed again when he doesn’t find it there. As he stuffs the sugar in his shopping cart, he frowns. It’s like it hits him right then that Lance had a bracelet, _just like his,_ and it’s not there anymore. He wonders what happened to it.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

His head hurts.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

He’s _missing_ something.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

He’s startled out of his thoughts, the voice in his head melting away, when he crashes his shopping cart into Hunk’s. His friend smiles at him.

“Sorry about that,” Hunk says. “Have you got everything?”

“Yeah,” Keith says.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

“Are you okay?” Hunk asks yet again. “You look… lost.”

“I--yeah,” Keith says and starts to take everything out of his cart and dumps it into Hunk’s. “I just gotta--I gotta do something first.” He takes out Lance’s wallet, handing Hunk a few bills. He takes them with a frown. “I’ll meet you guys back at Pidge’s.”

And then he starts running.

“Where are you going?” Hunk calls out.

Keith spares a look back at Hunk. “I’ll explain later!”

When he steps out of the store, the rain has stopped, but Keith barely gives it a thought as he climbs on Lance’s bike and starts pedaling. The pavement on the road to the cemetery is still wet, but Keith rides his bike recklessly anyway, his heart beating in time with his frantic pedaling. A glimpse of the sun’s rays peeks through the clouds, and it makes Keith look up. The clouds start moving, opening up, the sunshine brightening the landscape and reflecting itself on the puddles of rain on the street. And all of a sudden Keith feels tiny drops of water fall on his cheeks, out of nowhere, and his eyes become unfocused.

He sees Pidge and Hunk in front of him, on their bikes, frowns on their faces. But when Keith blinks, they’re gone. He shakes his head, feeling his feet go up, down, up, down as his bike meets a puddle, splashing water all over his shoes.

He looks at Lance’s white Converse, soaked through, and they blur again before him. Keith hears Lance’s voice echoing, _I need to go to San Francisco_ . Keith shakes his head again and keeps on cycling, eager to make his way to the cemetery, despite his head feeling fuzzy and the weird feeling that is trapped in his chest. He isn’t even really sure of _why_ he’s heading there, he just feels like he _needs_ to go.

And it’s weird, as he rides, his mind provides him with images that don’t quite fit the road in front of him. The sky has started to clear up, and suddenly it’s raining again. As he keeps going there’s a little bit of both at the same time, but when he looks up at the sky, not a single drop of rain is actually falling. Sometimes he sees the road leading to the bus station in Altea, and sometimes it’s the road actually in front of him. It’s annoying and confusing and Keith falls off his bike so many times as if he had never sat on one before.

_Keith. Keith, don’t you remember me?_

Lance is stepping into an empty bus, San Francisco bound. He takes a seat by the window, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m doing this. Okay. I’m really doing this,” Lance starts whispering to himself, his fingers gripping his curls tight. “Don’t freak out, Flores. Don’t do it. It’s no use if you freak out, so just stay calm.” He closes his eyes and sighs into the empty bus. Then he opens his eyes, wide and panicked. “Oh my god, will Keith freak out?”

_I need to go to San Francisco._

_We know. You said you wanted to go to college there._

_No, I mean now._

_What for?_

_A date._

_A date? You got a secret boyfriend in San Francisco and you didn’t tell us?_

_No! It’s not my date. I’ll see you guys later!_

Keith’s mind is going a million miles per hour. It’s being flooded by memories that are his, that aren’t his, materializing and washing themselves away as quick as they come. Lance went to San Francisco. He went to see _Keith_. What happened? Why doesn’t he remember it? But most importantly, how could he forget something like this?

Lance is looking out the window, the skyline of San Francisco materializing from within the fog and clouds. He gasps, pressing his hands against the glass. He’s here. He’s doing this. Keith is out there, somewhere. And Lance is going to find him.

He sits back down properly, his fingers tied together on his lap. _Would Keith be surprised to see me? Will he be glad? What if… what if he doesn’t like it? Doesn’t like_ me?

Lance is stepping out of the bus now, into the Greyhound station in San Francisco. He’s just standing there, backpack in his hand, bumping people around him as he takes in the room.

“What the fuck am I doing here,” he says to himself, anxiety filling his voice. “What the _fuck_ am I doing here.”

Keith can see Lance’s fingers shaking, eyes looking at every person walking by, at every sign, reading directions.

“Okay, okay,” Lance is still talking to himself. “What would Keith do?”

Lance walks around the city, boarding buses, checking his phone. Keith sees him wander around Japantown, sees him walk down Market Street, taking in the sights of the buildings, of all the people. The sun is beginning to set, and Lance sits down on a bench in Union Square, taking his shoes off to massage his tired feet. He takes his phone out of his jacket’s pocket, dialing Keith’s number, but the call doesn’t come through. Lance sighs, looking up at the cloudy sky.

“It’s probably not gonna happen,” he mutters in defeat, running his fingers through his damp curls. _But if it happens… will it be awkward? Will it be nice? Will Keith be glad to see me?_

Keith sees Lance continue his search, peeking into restaurants, dragging his feet through the Financial District. The rain starts coming down heavily, soaking Lance right down to his bones. Suddenly, he’s standing in front of Juniberries’, looking through the glass walls inside the restaurant. It’s a sight that makes Keith’s heart squeeze.

“Can I help you?” Acxa is saying from the door, arms around her as she tries to take some cover from the rain.

“Um, no,” Lance says. “I--I’m sorry. I’m just leaving.”

“Are you sure? You seem a bit lost.”

“Yeah, I--I guess I am. Lost, I mean, but um, I have to go anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

“Alright,” Acxa says, turning around to get inside the restaurant. “I hope you… get unlost.”

“Thanks,” Lance says, his face breaking out into a smile.

As he walks under the rain, Lance thinks. _I guess we’re not seeing each other. But, there’s something I’m sure of… If we do see each other, we will know. He was_ inside _me. He was_ me. _And I was inside_ him. _I_ was _him._

Keith feels like a bus just crashed into him. How did he not know about this? Where the fuck was he when this happened? He is so frustrated as he keeps riding Lance’s bike, his feet slipping from the pedals, and he feels its chain snap out of place. Keith falls off the bike, scraping his hands which he brings to cover his face.

Lance is walking to the bus stop, face filled with defeat. Keith’s heart squeezes when he sees Lance fighting back tears. How could Keith do this to Lance? Where _is_ he? He wants to reach out, apologize, tell him he…

There’s a person with a red umbrella at the stop. The figure looks… familiar to Keith. He watches as Lance sits down on the bench and puts his hands inside the pockets of his coat. Lance glances at the person standing next to him, who has his eyes on his phone and earbuds stuffed inside his ears. And Keith swears he can feel Lance’s stomach take a turn.

Lance opens his mouth to say something as the person closes the red umbrella, but the bus arrives on that exact moment, and both Lance and the person step inside. Full buses are always a consequence of rainy days, so it isn’t a surprise for Keith to see the bus crowded to the point where people are standing up and squeezing next to each other uncomfortably. Lance’s heart is pounding, beating against his chest when the bus driver presses on the accelerator and the movement makes him stumble forward into--

“Keith,” Lance says, voice soft. Lance’s eyes take in the boy in front of him, his violet eyes and his stupid hair and the pretty freckles on his cheeks that Lance can see due to the closeness. Keith isn’t even looking at him, apparently not hearing him over the music coming out of his earbuds, focused on a playlist he’s making on his phone. But Lance still feels heat rise up his cheeks.

“Keith,” Lance tries again, voice a bit louder, fingers curling into fists inside his jacket’s pockets. The freckled boy in front of him finally looks up, and when his eyes find Lance’s, Lance feels his breath catch in his throat. Lance’s face breaks into a wide smile. He found him. He found Keith. “It’s me!”

Keith takes an earbud out of his ear, brows furrowing into a small frown. “I’m sorry?” Keith says, confused. “Do I--do I know you?”

Lance’s smile fades.

“Keith…” he says quietly, and he thinks that maybe every person in the bus can hear his heart break into a million tiny pieces. “Keith, don’t you remember me?”

“Um,” Keith says, eyes searching for something he recognizes in Lance’s face but seems to fail. “I’m-- I’m sorry, but no.”

He sounds genuinely regretful. But it does nothing but smash Lance’s broken heart further.

“Oh,” Lance says quietly as he looks away with a mixture of embarrassment and hurt.

It’s quiet after that. It’s awkward as the bus keeps jostling them together. And it’s even worse after it stops and the passengers start pushing on each other to finally get out of the cramped vehicle. Lance starts moving, grateful that it’s his stop, since he has to catch another line to get to the Greyhound station. He doesn’t even dare to look back at Keith, feeling so angry and hurt and embarrassed. He just can’t.

“Wait!” Lance hears Keith call, feeling soft fingers curl around his wrist urgently, tugging. Lance turns around, his heart squeezing with hope when he finds Keith staring at him, his fingers tightening around Lance’s wrist. Does he--?

“What is your name?” Keith asks, violet eyes staring right into blue. He looks like he’s searching for something he’s lost, or something that he hasn’t found yet.

Lance feels his lips twitch into a small smile, the people around him pushing and shoving in their attempts to get off the bus. The movement is making Lance’s wrist begin to slip from Keith’s fingers, fingers that are trying really hard to hold on to the person that’s being pushed away from him.

“The name’s Lance,” he replies, warm grin on his face. And it’s such a lovely look on his face, Keith thinks, like that’s how it’s supposed to look all the time. Warm, happy and bright. Keith’s fingers catch on a bracelet, its knot unraveling under Keith’s tight grip.

The passengers keep on pushing and pushing until Lance is almost off the bus and slips out of Keith’s grip. “Lance Flores!” he calls out.

“Wait!” Keith says again, feet stumbling forward clumsily. He waves the bracelet, now in his hand, at Lance. Lance. Lance. His name is Lance. “Your bracelet!”

“Keep it!” Lance tells him just as the doors start sliding shut. “Give it to me next time we meet.”

“Okay,” Keith says, smiling.

He hopes that’s soon.

 

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Keith stands up, dusting the mud off his jeans. “You came to see me. You came to San Francisco,” he keeps saying, hopping on his bike, chain back in place. “Lance. Lance. Lance.”

How could he forget? Time keeps playing with him, with them. But Time keeps on giving him the missing puzzle pieces, second chances. Everything in his head starts clearing up, things falling into place. Time has tangled them up, Keith and Lance, but Time’s also given Keith wings. He feels like he’s flying between the past and the future-- or his present, or whatever this is.

He keeps going, keeps pedaling, heart soaring, determination coursing through his veins. Keith still has the feeling that going into the cemetery will give him answers, and better yet, it might give him Lance.

 

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Lance jerks awake. His head throbs and hurts as he sits up, a bunch of leaves and flower petals stuck on his jacket and his hair. He takes his hand to brush the dry leaves off the back of his head, and there’s a mullet. A goddamn mullet.

“I’m-- I’m Keith again!” he exclaims, patting Keith’s hair and his jacket and his body. It feels like it’s been so long, so long since he inhabited Keith’s body. It’s been so long since he last saw the leather jacket he bought Keith, felt the leather against his skin. Lance can smell Keith’s spicy scent mixed with a little bit of sweat. He grabs the collar of Keith’s jacket and takes a deep breath in. He’s missed this.

When Lance finally opens his eyes, he’s able to take his surroundings in. He’s been here before, he knows this specific angle to look at the mountains, knows what to expect when his nose breathes in the scent of freshly baked _pan de muerto._ But why is Keith here?

The faint warm glow of the candles strewn all around made it easy to see under the light of the setting sun. Yes, he knows this place. He knows the place where his mother is buried. But why is Keith here?

Lance rubs his eyes, vision clearing a little as he spots the last of the visiting families leaves the cemetery. It’s Día de Muertos, there’s no denying it. Lance can see it in the blankets of cempasúchil flowers, covering up the dry grass around them. Lance can see it in the small altars set up next to the gravestones of his late neighbors and family.

The crickets sing loudly.

Lance groans and stretches a little in his seat, feeling the joints of his back pop pleasantly. And as he twists his body around, from the corner of his eye. He sees it.

His breath catches, whole body stiffening.

 

_Lance Alejandro Flores García_

_1999 - 2017_

_Beloved son, brother and friend._

 

He sees his gravestone.

He sees an altar, a plate of quesadillas laying on a blue, soft woven blanket. Lance’s fingers instinctively reach out to touch it, tracing the familiar patterns of butterfly flowers and soft woolen texture. It’s _his._ There’s no doubt about it. This blanket is his, the threads as much wool as they are Lance.

Lance’s blue eyes scan the scene in front of him. A Konohagakure headband. A sketchbook. Gabriel García Marquez. A loom. A teddy bear.

His eyes widen in horror, and he’s still not breathing, still frozen. But the realization crashes to him in relentless waves, rolling him around near the shore, drowning him.

“I-- We-- I--” Lance breathes out, gasps of air being swallowed up and expelled in panic. “We-- we died?”

Lance jumps back on his feet, his neurons firing so quick, they force him to move at the speed of lightning. He starts to feel chills running all over Keith’s body, and his heart starts racing like it’s demanding to get out. He tries to take deep breaths to calm himself down, but they’re pointless. His hand clutches his chest.

_What is this--?_

“Keith!” Lance finally manages the words to come out, but they’re more like a scream out of a horror movie. “What is going on?” he says out loud, whimpering in confusion.

He feels his eyes well up with tears, hot and warm, slipping down his cheeks into the ground in calm. “What is this?” Lance whispers. “Is this a dream? Am I really dead?”

Lance pinches his arm, hard. He’s not waking up. This is real.

“If this is real,” Lance starts. “If this is real then-- then--.” A Konohagakure headband. A sketchbook. Gabriel García Marquez. A loom. A teddy bear.

The weight in Lance’s chest is suddenly unbearable.

“...everyone?” he whispers to the candles, flickering with his breath.

He takes a look at the picture on top of the altar, all the Flores squished together into a couch. His family. His shaky hands take the picture, a finger running through the picture to clean up some of the dust that had gathered outdoors. There’s his mother, his father, his big brother, his big sister, Abuela, and the twins. The twins. Lance’s head quickly shoots up, scanning the names on the graves. Marco is still alive.

“I need to find Marco,” he says into the empty cemetery. He thinks of his little brother, feeling a little bit scared to know what’s happened to him. But he needs to know. He needs to--  

“I need to find Keith,” Lance says with resolve. Keith-- Keith had to be able to explain what’s going on, right? He was here for a reason, right?

Lance wipes his tears with Keith’s jacket sleeve and notices a thin strand of red yarn, coiling around his wrist like a snake. Lance runs a finger on it, noticing there isn’t a knot that’s tying the thread around his wrist. Instead, it continues on and on, Lance notices as he grips it, trying to pull the thread towards him. It seems to be so long that even when Lance pulls and pulls with all his might, it never actually goes taut. It’s ending seems to be far away, his eyes losing the thread under the eerie mist that had descended upon the landscape.

Lance frowns, and decides to start following it. See where it leads.

It feels big, but Lance can’t describe it. Every step he takes towards the thread’s apparent source feels monumental. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like every movement leads to answers. There’s a glow beneath his feet, and the wind’s blowing softly, making the cempasúchil petals dance around his ankles.

Lance doesn’t have to walk much until he gets to the cemetery’s main road. To his surprise, the string grows in tension, telling Lance he must be close. He looks up then, taking in the long dirt road between him and the gate, the way that cempasúchil petals are scattered throughout it, and he sees the end of the string. But it’s weird, because from this distance, it doesn’t seem to end. It just disappears, as if into another dimension.

The string tugs, and Lance not only feels it on the skin around his wrist. He hears it even, echoing in the air around him, like a really high note that reverberates in each of his bones. Lance gasps, looking at the string that disappears midair.

His voice comes softly, tentatively at first, but he says it. “Keith?”

He thinks he must look like a maniac, talking to the empty space but he does it again, louder. “Keith!” he screams. A few birds in the nearby tree caw, but even through their cawing Lance can hear it, clearly.

“Lance?”

It hangs in the air, oh so clearly.

It’s him.

“Keith!” Lance screams again, feet sparking into motion towards that point. The point where the string hangs, midair. Where Keith is.

“Lance!” he hears Keith’s echo to his calls.

The voice is clear, and Lance hears it all around him. Spurring him on, making him faster as he heads there, towards that point, towards Keith.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One step.

Lance stops.

He felt it, in the air, just there. He can’t explain it, but he knows.

So Lance turns around, the gas particles around him thrumming. The air is damp, the sun flickers off and he sees him. He sees Keith. They’re back in their own bodies.

“Keith,” he breathes out, with his own voice. Keith. Keith’s here.

A smile.

Soft smile.

Wide eyes and wind blowing their hair away.

Time stops. This time, just for them.

Keith takes the first step, violet eyes shining. “Lance,” he says through his grin.

“You’re here!” Lance says, face lighting up as he narrows the distance between them. His starved eyes look at Keith. His eyes, the curve of his lashes, the freckles on his cheekbones, the lines of his face. His spicy scent.

They don’t move. They don’t touch, as if they’re afraid of disturbing the air around them. They breathe in unison.

They’re both here.

“I-- I came here to see you,” Keith finally breaks the silence. He lifts his hands and they hover over Lance’s shoulders, unsure. But then he sees the way Lance’s awed face breaks into a huge smile, Keith has to touch him. He’s here. It’s real.

Keith feels the thought warm his entire body as he chuckles in disbelief. His mouth keeps talking on without Keith’s brain catching up. “It wasn’t easy to find you, let me tell you… You were… very far away,” Keith is saying, feeling tears start to burn in the back of his eyes.

“But you’re here,” Lance says, a finger curling around Keith’s wrist, his hand still on Lance’s shoulder. Keith smiles at him, and Lance has to stop for a moment to take it all in. He thinks he can feel Time stretching, slowing down, allowing them the magic of the moment.

Lance frowns then, after a few seconds of just staring at each other. He shakes his head. “What are you doing here anyway?” Lance asks, using the hand around Keith’s wrist to push his hand off him, gently.

“Well, uh… I couldn’t find you anywhere,” Keith starts. “And you weren’t answering my calls. And you didn’t accept my Instagram request. So I-- so I had to.”

“Hmph,” Lance says, lips twitching into a small, fond smile as he looks down at their hands. Keith’s here.

Lance’s grip on Keith’s wrist slackens, uncurling themselves slowly from Keith. Lance gasps.

“You-- you kept it?” Lance asks, running his fingertips through the knots of the bracelet.

“I-- I did,” Keith replies, smile growing wider. His fingers move to untangle the knot that keeps the bracelet around his wrist. Without really thinking about it, he grabs Lance’s own hand and wraps the collection of knots and thread and color back where they belong. “I think it’s time,” Keith starts, fingers struggling over the new knot. “That I gave it back to you.”

Lance’s answering smile is dazzling.

“Although, if I’m being honest,” Keith continues, “I really had no idea who you were back then. I think I owe you an apology.”

“What do you mean _back then?”_ Lance ask, eyes searching Keith’s face.

“It’s kinda hard to explain,” he tells Lance.

“As if switching bodies wasn’t hard enough,” Lance says, teasing grin on his face as they start walking, side by side, aimlessly around.

“Yeah,” Keith says with a chuckle, starting to follow Lance. “But seriously, this is going to sound even weirder because when you came to San Francisco I think we-- I was.” Keith pauses a little, gathering his thoughts. “Remember when we talked about how maybe we shouldn’t be closed off to the possibility of time travel?”

Lance gasps again. “We were time traveling?”

Keith nods. “Yeah. It’s… weird. I still don’t get it completely,” Keith tells Lance. “But you went to see me before I knew you.”

“That’s…” Lance starts, lifting a finger to up to his chin. “That’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think? Like it’s some Billy Pilgrim shit right there.”

Keith chuckles again and nods. He’s so happy. After going through all those moments that made him so sad, anxious, frustrated… Lance is finally standing before him. He feels like that grave standing on the cemetery doesn’t even matter anymore. Lance is _here_ . And Keith is with _him_.

“Like, do you think the universe was trying to tell us something? Kinda foreshadowing what we were about to go through,” Lance says.

“I… Maybe. We shouldn’t close that possibility either,” Keith says, a thoughtful look on his face.

They stop walking then, stopping at the top of a hill near the cemetery, overlooking the lake drenched in twilight. They both look at the scene, in awe of the beauty of it. The sun setting behind the mountains, the orange tinge to the sky, the first few stars popping up, it’s beautiful.

“It’s the golden hour,” they say together, turning to look at each other and chuckling softly.

When their soft laughter dies out, Lance sighs.

“So…” Lance starts, looking down at the grass. “I’m dead, right?”

Keith turns to look at him, and waits until Lance meets his gaze. “Not yet,” he smiles, a bit hesitantly.

Lance smiles back at him, feeling a wave of reassurement that immediately mutes his anxiety. “So, what happened?” he asks, scratching the back of his head. He needs to know.

And Keith tells him. He tells Lance everything. About coming to Altea, of meeting Andy, of seeing the house, Marco. He tells him everything of the landslide’s devastating aftermath.

Keith had been feeling a bit nervous about telling Lance all of this. His own eyes never leave Lance’s, examining every reaction that is shown through Lance’s eyes. He sees them flicker from grief, unbelievably heavy and heart shattering, to relief and to the fire of determination.

“So we can save them, then,” Lance says, biting his lip, his fiery gaze locked on Keith’s.

 _“You_ can,” Keith replies, shooting a confident smile towards Lance.

“I-- I don’t know,” Lance says, scratching the back of his head. “I’m-- scared.”

Keith sighs, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I get it,” Keith says. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“Thank you,” Lance tells Keith earnestly. They look away then, both of them, into the landscape again.

“It’s almost time,” Keith comments, watching the sun’s rays begin to fade. Through the corner of his eye, he looks at Lance. His eyes travel all across Lance’s body, taking him in, so he doesn’t ever forget. So he doesn’t forget what Lance looks like just then, wind softly blowing his curls back, eyes towards the setting sun.

Keith doesn’t want to forget.

Panicked, Keith starts searching for something in his pockets. He doesn’t want to forget. He doesn’t want to forget. His mind provides him with the way he couldn’t recognize Altea before, how he’d forgotten the road to Lance’s house, the notes on his phone deleting themselves.

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith, observing his frenzied search. He turns the pockets of his coat inside out, the front pockets of his jeans, until he finds it. Keith looks up at Lance, face bright, showing him a marker proudly.

Lance snorts. “Why do you have a marker in your pocket, just like that?”

Keith pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s for emergencies.”

Lance can’t help it. He doubles over, cackling. It isn’t even that funny, but Lance really can’t stop laughing. It’s just something about knowing the fact that Keith carries a marker in his pocket for emergencies that does it for him.

“Why-- Why are you laughing?” Keith says, fighting the smile that’s threatening to curl his lips. “You’re killing the moment, dude!”

He raises his hands, curling in front of him in frustration but he looks at Lance, doubled over, laughter escaping his mouth. The echoes of Lance’s laughter surround their deserted spot, reaching and tickling Keith’s eardrums. Lance’s laughter is so contagious, Keith starts giggling, bringing his hands to cover his mouth.

And for a moment there, with everything going on around them outside this little bubble, Keith and Lance are standing in the eye of the storm. Calm. Peaceful. Uncaring of the storm raging on around them as they stare at each other, breathless, laughter still tingling their lips.

The moment is a small one, but Time stretches itself for them once more. Time lets them have this, this beautiful, peaceful happy bubble. If only for a few seconds.

Lance recovers first, straightening up. “What’s the emergency now?” he asks, motioning to the marker still clutched in Keith’s hand.

“Give me your hand,” Keith says, stretching out his own. He uncaps the marker with his teeth, drops it back into his hand to speak clearly. “Let’s write each other names on our hands, so we don’t forget it when this is over.”

Lance smiles quizzically, but places his hand in Keith’s anyway. “I’m not sure how I’d ever forget this,” Lance whispers, his stare boring right into Keith. “But… alright, mullet.”

Something about the look on Lance’s face makes Keith’s breath catch. His hand automatically grips Lance’s hand tighter as his fingers move instinctively to write down his name. He doesn’t even notice the strokes of the marker are writing something else entirely. Only Lance’s eyes exist.

When he finishes, he smiles at Lance and hands him the marker. Lance’s hands move, but his eyes don’t.

Keith feels the felt tip of the marker on his palm, beginning to ink Lance’s name into his skin. But when Keith blinks, Lance is gone.

The air around Keith is still again, but it feels a bit stale this time. The colors look so muted without Lance’s brightness to shed light upon everything. Keith swallows, bringing his hand to look at his hand and sees the single line Lance had traced. It curls into a fist.

It doesn’t matter.

“Lance,” Keith says, trying to tattoo the sound into his brain. “His name is Lance.”

When Keith closes his eyes, he feels himself forgetting. Suddenly, abruptly, the way Lance had gone. Like the vision of every message from Lance in his phone disappearing, like the way his memory had gone foggy as he walked through Altea’s main street with Shiro and Jordan and Allura.

He frowns. Wait.

“What am I doing here?” Keith asks aloud, looking at everything around him. The trees, the mountains, the lake. “I came here--I came here to save _him.”_

Him.

“What was his name?” his question comes out of his throat laced with anguish. “His name. Your name. What is it?”

Blue eyes. Soft smile.

“Lance,” Keith says, eyes lighting up, but the image and the sound wash themselves away as soon as he says it. “No, wait, what’s his name? Why? Why did I come here?”

Keith feels a few tears of frustration build up behind his eyes, finding the escape route down his cheeks. He looks at the sky, clear, full of stars and he cries out, “What’s your name?”

  
· ✵  　 　　  　 　　　　  
　　　 · 　 · 　  
　　 ✦  · 　 ✫  
　　　　　 　　✵  　　　　 ✫ 　　  
  　　 　　　   * 

 

                      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The commissioned art at the end is by the lovely [reindeerene](https://www.instagram.com/reindeerene/). We'll link you to the tumblr post when Irene uploads it in case you guys want to reblog it.
> 
> Let us know what you thought about this!
> 
>  **Translations**  
>  Qué pedo - The literal translation is “what fart”, but it’s a mexican slang for what the hell  
> Se volvió loco - He went crazy  
> Cállate, Marco - Shut up, Marco  
> Buenos días mijo, ¿cómo dormiste? - Good morning, my son, how did you sleep?  
> ¿No te vas a peinar? - Aren’t you going to comb your hair?  
> Te dije que se volvió loco - I told you he went crazy  
> ¡Espérense! - Hold on!  
> Ya, Abuela - Stop, Abuela  
> Más vale tarde que nunca - Better later than never  
> A ti. Gracias a ti. - To you. Thank you  
> Ya váyanse, con cuidado - Go, be careful


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short update! sorry it took us a while. but there's gonna be another small chapter coming this week so. wait for it guys :3 we hope you like it!
> 
> translations at the end, as always.

Lance stands there, in front of the cemetery’s gates, hand outstretched, clutching nothing but air. He blinks a few times, staring at the space Keith had just been. He’s alone now. But it doesn’t quite feel like that anyway. 

The wind blows, scattering some damp, dead leaves around his feet, and thunder starts rumbling again in the distance. He takes a deep breath, looking up at the cloudy sky. Rain clouds move in again menacingly, covering the mountains like a blanket. And so Lance’s legs begin to move. He feels a rush of determination run through every inch of his body, like every cell in his lanky body knows what’s going to happen and is ready for it. He’s ready.

Lance spots his bike on the ground a few meters away and picks it up, brushing off the dead leaves stuck on the spokes of his tire. He hops on, hands gripping on the handlebar so tight his knuckles turn white. And Lance starts pedalling, faster than he’s ever done in his life, filled with a sudden burst of energy as he bikes around the lake towards Pidge’s house.

He feels the moist wind slapping his face, bike rushing through the wet pavement. His breath is coming in quick because of the strain of exercise as he goes over the plan Keith told him earlier. Pidge’s house. Smoke bombs. Drawing everyone out of his home. It’s a pretty solid plan, he thinks. But still, he worries.

Everything feels different now, every push of his feet against the pedals heavy. With every yard he travels, he feels the adrenaline spike up in his bloodstream. He’s ready. He has to be. He thinks of the altar, his grave, his family six feet underground, his little brother surviving all alone. He has to be ready. He can’t fuck this up.

And then he thinks about Keith, his heart skipping a beat when he hears Keith’s voice echo in his mind, saying his name. He thinks about Keith’s warm hands on his wrist, tying up his worn bracelet, about his soft smile and his beautiful violet eyes. It was so different from that first time, in San Francisco, when Keith’s fingers caught on his bracelet, slipping it off him. It kind of feels like they’ve come full circle, and the thought fills Lance’s chest with a warmth he can’t explain. The first time he met Keith might have not been the best meeting he could’ve hoped for, but those stolen moments Time had given them… they were perfect.

Keith. Keith. Keith. His mind runs through the name like a prayer, as he hops off his bike at Pidge’s lawn, the rain starting back up again so hard the drops feel like bullets on his skin. He opens the door to the Holt’s house, toeing off his soaked shoes as he heads towards the kitchen where he finds Pidge and Hunk at. The kitchen is a mess, Mrs. Holt’s usually pristine counters filled with a bunch of ping pong balls and soda cans, aluminum foil, spilt sugar, baking soda and potassium nitrate. It smells weird, the scent making Lance sneeze.

“Lance!” Hunk exclaims as soon as he catches sight of Lance, wet clothes sticking to his skin.

“Took you long enough,” Pidge says without sparing a look at him, stuffing some powder into a ping pong ball. Hunk shoots her a glare, as if he’s asking her to stop being rude.

“Hey guys.” Lance finds himself smiling fondly at his friends, despite feeling like they must be hating him a little for disappearing on them. He’s just so, so happy that they’re here with him. That they’re not leaving him alone to do all this.

“What!” Pidge says, crossing her arms. “He just fucking ran off while we did all the hard work!” She gestures to the pile of homemade smoke bombs on the counter with her chin, still pouting a little. “No offense, Hunk, but your chemistry knowledge is nowhere near Lance’s and we could’ve used the hel-- _ Hmppjhhhh _ . Lance! Get off me! You’re all wet!”

Lance couldn’t help it. He ran towards Pidge, closing the gap between them and hugging her so tight he actually lifts her tiny frame off the floor. 

“Nope,” he replies, still pressing her to his chest while she struggles until she eventually breaks free and Lance sets her on the floor. He smiles at her, brightly and says, “Thank you.”

Lance notices the way Pidge’s cheeks start heating up. “Yeah, yeah,” she replies, trying to sound nonchalant. She fixes her glasses and Lance swears he can see her lips twitch in a tiny smile. 

Hunk is staring at his best friends, eyes so bright that it would seem like he was the one who got to be hugged by Lance. He meets Lance’s gaze and Hunk gives him the sweetest smile. Lance feels his eyes watering a little bit, taking in the scene before him. He didn’t know he needed this tiny moment, but after seeing his family’s graves and then acquiring every single piece of information to change all of their futures, he feels like maybe this calm before the storm suits him well. 

“Are you ready?” Hunk asks, clapping a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He squeezes it softly, reassuringly, and Lance leans into the touch.

Lance sighs. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, shooting Hunk a nervous smile.

“Hey,” he hears Pidge’s voice behind him, making him turn around. “It  _ will _ be okay.” She has a small smile playing on her lips, eyes shining behind her glasses.

“Yeah, man,” Hunk says. “We’ve got a good plan. It’s going to work.”

“You’re right,” Lance says, nodding firmly. “If Naruto took on Pain by himself to protect the Konoha, I can set off some smoke bombs.”

Pidge groans, bringing her hands to her face in mock frustration. “What a fucking nerd,” she mumbles, rubbing her temples.

Hunk just laughs good naturedly, picking up a plastic bag to start cleaning the kitchen up before Pidge’s mom gets home. Lance grabs another one, deciding to help out Hunk while Pidge finishes wrapping up the last few smoke bombs in aluminium foil. The clock on the wall reads 7:36 p.m., so Lance must be getting home soon. 

The three of them hop on their bikes, each one carrying a plastic bag that contains some smoke bombs. They pedal carefully all the way to Lance’s house, the rain falling more heavily with each turn they take. As Lance’s shoes start soaking again, he wonders if it was a good idea to ask Pidge and Hunk for help. What if something happens to them because of him? He could never forgive himself.

“H-- How are you guys doing?” Lance exclaims to check on them, trying to push his thoughts out of the way.  

“I’m fine!” Pidge answers first.

“It feels like I’ve been swimming instead of riding my bike,” Hunk says, taking a small break at the top of a hill. Pidge snorts, nodding in agreement. “But it’s okay.”

“We’re almost there,” Lance says.

“We know,” Pidge and Hunk reply in unison, mounting their bikes once more and speeding to Lance’s house.

It’s a relief when they get there, and Abuela looks so worried they’ve been riding their bikes in the rain that she hands them each one a warm towel and makes  _ chocolate caliente _ for everyone. She pours the drink for Pidge first. 

“Ay Katie,” Abuela says to her with a kind smile.  _ “Qué bueno verte.” _

“It’s good to see you too!” Pidge replies with a grin. She blows on the cup of hot chocolate on her hands. “Thank you by the way,” she says, motioning to the drink in her hands. She takes a sip of it, the taste of it creamy and smooth and rich. “It’s perfect.”

_ “Qué linda,” _ Abuela says, patting her cheek softly before she moves on to pour the hearty drink for Lance and Hunk. 

Lance smiles up at Abuela gratefully, bringing his mug to his lips.  _ Chocolate caliente _ on rainy days has always been a tradition at his house, but today the familiar taste of mexican hot chocolate doesn’t manage to comfort him as it usually does. The warmth of the drink still manages to make him shiver though, so he burrows himself further in the warm towel he’d thrown around his shoulders. 

His foot taps on the floor incessantly, unable to keep himself still as he listens to Hunk, Pidge and Abuela make some small talk. He keeps on looking at the front door, knowing his father will be here soon and that’s when the plan will be set into motion.

Abuela excuses herself, saying she needs to do something at the workshop. The twins come downstairs then, both donning their matching pajamas, complaining loudly about not being told of the hot chocolate Abuela had made. When Dani and Marco step inside the kitchen, Lance tries so hard to hide the happiness of seeing their sibling’s faces. He doesn’t want to look suspicious or weird, but he can’t stop himself from smiling fondly at them. They can be a pain in the ass sometimes, Lance thinks, but he can’t imagine the world without them.

“Hi guys,” Marco greets Pidge and Hunk, who are sitting around the kitchen table, sipping quietly on their warm chocolate. 

“Heeey!” Pidge and Hunk greet them simultaneously.  

Dani turns to look at her younger brother, who is on his tiptoes up to reach the counter, trying to reach a mug from the cupboard above it. Lance stands up then, the chair making a loud scraping sound as he does. He heads towards Dani, easily grabbing up a mug for her and one for Marco. She takes them from his hands and smiles up at her brother in thanks, showing off her tooth gap.

“Laaance, are they staying for the movie?” Dani asks as he follows him to the stove where Abuela had left the remaining chocolate drink to keep it warm.

“No,  _ beba, _ it’s just Marco, you and me, like we promised.” He smiles at her, pouring some chocolate into her and Marco’s cup. 

“Aw, I was hoping they would,” she mutters as she takes a sip, socked feet shuffling to sit down next to Lance’s friends at the kitchen table, sharing a chair with her twin brother.

When Lance turns to look at Pidge and Hunk, they have the softest looks on their faces. It’s like they’ve just seen an avalanche of golden retriever puppies heading straight at them. Hunk has made practice of that expression a thousand times more than Pidge has, because it takes a lot more to pierce her demon soul. However, it only takes a small conversation with Dani or Marco to make her lose her shit. She adores these kids.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is comfortable and warm. Lance smiles at the scene before him, at some of his favorite people in the world that sit around him, chattering and grinning and sipping on a delicious drink, with only the sound of the rain pattering outside and the leaves rustling in the forest, in the cozy home Lance grew up in… it makes him feel warm all over in a way that  _ chocolate caliente _ would never manage. He’s home.

It’s like, he never took the time to appreciate it. Home. He hadn’t really been able to, not when he was so set and focused on leaving it. Lance feels like he had been wearing some sort of glasses before, ones that magnified everything he didn’t like about this place. It was impossible to take them off until now, after he’s lived all he’s lived these past few months with Keith. He’s been out there, he’s seen a little bit more of the world. He’s lived in a big city, with its bustling crowds, its bright lights at midnight, its full buses, and the rush of cars. He’s seen the tall buildings, walked through the busy streets, and met so many people. 

It’s always seemed incredible how all of that ran parallel to his reality, to the small town Lance grew up in, to the slow pace in which everything moves here, to the smiles from the neighbors, to afternoons at the lake, to biking with his friends everywhere, to living in each other’s houses. It’s nothing like mornings huddled up on the couch, watching cartoons with all  of his siblings, like evenings spent with thread tangled up on his fingers, like the nights he’s spent staring at the glowing stars on the ceiling, talking to his brother about space and the meaning of life. The city and this town are polar opposites, like up and down, and Lance feels like now he can appreciate them both. 

There’s beauty in it, Lance can see it now. It’s like his eyes finally opened; he stopped being colorblind. He can see all of the colors of the rainbow around him, and even more above them, giving everything a depth it didn’t have before. 

Lance is home. He’s home.

It hits him like a bullet to the head, that he’s losing a part of it tonight. He’s losing this place. The seat by the window, the stars on the ceiling, the looms on the workshop, the living room where he’d once watched his parents dance, the kitchen where Abuela has cooked for them with so much love. He’s never sitting in this room like this again.

The lump on his throat is hard to swallow, and the misty look on his eyes can’t be masked. He stands up from his seat at the table, picking up his cold and empty mug to set it in the kitchen sink. His fingers shake a little. He feels a little weak.

But when he looks up back at his friends and his siblings, finding them watching him with concerned looks, eyes full of love, he finds his strength again. Because even though he might be losing his home tonight, he’ll always have them. He’ll always have the place in their hearts, the one he’s carved for himself in them, Lance-shaped and warm. That home.

He shoots them all a dazzling smile, easing the lines of worry on their faces. They all startle though as soon as the front door slams shut and Lance’s father walks in, toeing off his wet boots and leaving his raincoat on the rack.

_ “Buenas noches,” _ he greets, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. To Lance, it looks like the ghost of the smile his father used to smile before, this one more muted, a little bit forced. “Lance, you didn’t tell me you were gonna have friends over.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Flores we were just leaving,” Hunk says, smiling at Lance’s father as he stands up from the kitchen table. Pidge mirrors Hunk, picking up her backpack from the floor.

“It’s getting late anyway,” Pidge says, glancing at Lance and nodding at him almost imperceptibly. It’s on.

“Well, be careful, kids,” Mr. Flores says. “It’s raining pretty hard out there.”

Hunk and Pidge nod again in acknowledgement and start saying their goodbyes, hugging the twins tighter than is probably necessary. Dani and Marco don’t mind though, asking them to come over some other time so they can play video games.

Meanwhile, Lance pours a cup of hot chocolate for his father and sets it on the table alongside a slice of homemade  _ pan de muerto.  _ His father sits down, muttering a soft  _ gracias _ at his son.

“I’m gonna go open the garage door for Pidge and Hunk,” Lance informs him, scooping up a set of keys from the counter. “They left their bikes in there.”

Lance waits for his father’s nod in response before he leads his friends down the hall and to the garage door. Pidge grabs Lance’s hand, squeezing a little, before she steps down the stairs and into the room. Lance tries to give her a smile.

“Good night guys!” Lance says, making sure his voice is loud enough to carry into the kitchen. “Text me when you  _ get home.” _

Hunk nods at Lance, recognizing the code words he’d made up for the mission. Pidge thought it was unnecessary, but Hunk had made them all memorize them. When they  _ get home _ it means they’re actually done with the setup of the smoke bombs, that they’ve left them where they’d agreed upon and that they’re ready to be lit up when the time comes. He closes the door to the garage, leaving his friends in the room behind him and gets ready to do his part.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself. “I can do this.”

He heads back into the kitchen then, spotting only his brother and sister and the dirty dishes Lance’s dad had left on the table. Dani and Marco look up at his arrival, jumping from their seat and demanding to see the movie  _ now.  _

“Where’s papá?” Lance asks them as he picks up the cup and plate from the kitchen table and places them in the sink. He needs to make sure.

“He’s taking a shower,” Marco says. Lance nods.  _ Good.  _

“Can we watch Star Wars now  _ pleaaaaaase? _ ” Dani says, tugging on Lance’s damp t-shirt.

“Alright, alright,” Lance says, shuffling Dani’s hair, still wet from her shower. “Lemme go get my laptop and we’ll set it up.” He hopes the HDMI cable is still where he left it.

“Bianca said the movie’s already on Netflix!” Dani tells him. “You don’t have to get your laptop.”

“I don’t believe anything Bianca says,” Marco pipes up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go get your laptop, Lance.”

Lance chuckles, walking towards the living room and switching on the TV. “Let’s try Netflix first.”

Marco grumbles all the way to his seat, grumpily burrowing himself between the couch’s pillows. The movie is indeed on Netflix, which makes Dani stick her tongue out at her brother. Lance smiles a little as he presses play and turns around to leave the room. 

“Where are you going?” Dani asks, pouting.

“I’m gonna go make some popcorn,” Lance explains.

“Okaaay,” Dani says.  _ “No te tardes.” _

Everything is going according to plan so far, but Lance doesn’t allow himself to relax. He moves through his kitchen robotically, tossing some popcorn into the microwave. He watches them pop, the seconds ticking by painfully slow. His foot is tapping on the ground.

He wonders how Hunk and Pidge are doing so far, so he takes out his phone and checks. No texts yet. He turns back to the microwave, counting the seconds that are left.

“Mmm,  _ ¡huele bien!” _ Lance hears Abuela awfully close behind him, and it makes him jump instantly.

“Abuela!” He turns around to face her, catching her with her eyes almost closed and a hand over her mouth, covering up her soft laughter.  _ “Me asustaste,” _ he continues, scratching the back of his neck.

_ “Ah, ya eres tú otra vez, _ ” Abuela tells him in a warm tone as she moves to Lance’s side to open the microwave door.

Hold the fuck up.

“I— What?” 

“Mmm?” Abuela makes a nonchalant sound, opening the bag of popcorn and emptying it on a bowl. 

“What did you say?” Lance asks surprised, lowering his body to face her. 

Abuela stares at her grandchild and puts a popcorn on her mouth.  _ “Ay, Lance, por favor.” _

“You— You knew? Since when?”

Abuela leans in. “It’s funny, you know,” she says in English with a heavy Mexican accent. “Something very similar happened to your father when he was around your age. There was a time in his life when he was not always himself.” She puts another popcorn in her mouth. “And something tells me it happened to me, too,” then she looks at Lance and shrugs. “Maybe it runs in our family.”

Lance shakes his head. “It happened to papá as well? And to you?” Abuela nods in agreement. “What is it exactly?”

“You mean the dreams? You live another person’s life, but it feels very realistic, doesn’t it?”

“Abuela, I don’t think those were dreams.”

“Whatever they were, this person who was you earlier… they’re nice,” she smiles. 

“Laaance,” Marco calls from the living room.

“Abuela, listen to me. We need to get out of the house. If we don’t, something terrible is going to happen. I have a plan. But I could use your help, especially convincing dad,” he tells her, rushed, turning into the direction of the living room.

Abuela frowns, her wrinkled brows carving out an expression of confusion and worry.  _ “¿Qué quieres decir?” _ she asks. 

Lance hesitates. He remembers the altar, the offerings, his family six feet underground.  _ Abuela _ six feet underground. He doesn’t think he can manage to tell her.

“I don’t have time to explain,” Lance starts, hoping his excuse is good enough to avoid more explanations. “But… the house is gonna be gone.”

Abuela’s eyes widen a little, her grip on the popcorn bowl slackens a little. For a second there, she looks scared.

“Don’t worry, though,” Lance says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you all safe. When the time comes, just do as I say.”

_ “Ese es mi niño,”  _ Abuela says, moving her own hand to cover Lance’s own and squeezes. Lance smiles. She trusts him. 

They both startle a little when they hear Lance’s dad’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Lance kind of wishes he could talk to his dad the way he’s talking to Abuela right now. He kind of wishes his father were the kind of person who would believe him. But he knows it’s not gonna happen. Abuela probably does, too, which is why she never said anything about talking to her son about this.

_ “Voy a empacar algunas cosas, amor,” _ Abuela whispers. Lance nods. That’s a good idea.  _ “Yo siempre estoy de tu lado, ¿si?” _

Abuela hands him the bowl of popcorn and leaves the kitchen without another word. Lance feels a significantly lighter now that he has someone who knows about the gist of the plan and is willing to cooperate. He hopes that it’s going to be at least a little bit easier now.

“Hey,” Lance’s father greets when he steps into the kitchen after Abuela left it. He has his pajamas on and he’s got his laptop in his hands. He probably has some work to do.

“Hey,” Lance replies, feeling a little bit uncomfortable under his father’s searching gaze. They stare at each other without saying much until Lance clears his throat. He motions to the popcorn bowl in his hands. “I um, I better get this to Dani and Marco before they start complaining.”

“Okay,” his father replies, placing his laptop on the kitchen table and moving for a glass of water.  _ “No se duerman tarde.” _

Lance’s lips twitch a little. “We won’t, we’re just watching one movie tonight.”

“Good,” Mr. Flores says, and Lance takes that as a cue to head back into the living room. He spots Dani and Marco, right where he left them on the couch. He smiles a little and grabs a thick blanket from the basket next to the bookshelf. 

“What took you so long? You missed Finn and Poe’s epic escape!” Marco blurts out as Lance takes a seat between the twins, spreading the blanket to cover them all up. He opens his mouth to answer but Dani speaks up first.

“I love Finn and Poe, they’re so badass together,” Dani sighs, reaching out for some popcorn in Lance’s lap, her eyes never leaving the TV. “Bianca says they’re boyfriends,” she says and puts a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“Bianca says a lot of things,” Marco groans. “Is that even possible, anyway?”

“What? Finn and Poe be boyfriends?” Lance asks, eyeing his little brother curiously. He nods. “Yeah it is. They could be.”

“See?” Dani says.

Marco stares at his siblings for a few seconds before he nods. “Cool.” 

Lance smiles a little, allowing himself to relax a little between his little siblings. Dani eventually moves to cuddle up under his arm, taking it and wrapping it around her shoulder. Lance still feels jumpy though, unable to concentrate on the screen in front of him, barely listening to Marco and Dani’s commentary about the film. He just keeps checking his phone, to see if Hunk and Pidge have texted (they haven’t), and glancing in the way of the kitchen, where his father is still at. 

Lance has spent the past hour trying to shut off his brain, to let himself enjoy a moment with his siblings. But everytime he convinces himself that he can save his family, anxiety hits him like a bullet. What if he can’t do it? What if he fails and he’s never able to see his family again? 

_ So we can save them, then? _

_ You can, _ he hears Keith’s voice in his head.  _ You don’t have to do it alone. _

And Keith is right. He was totally right when he said that. Pidge and Hunk helped him, his grandma believes him, despite everything sounding like a dramatic plot pulled out of an anime fantasy movie. The rain still falls down like bullets on the ground, getting stronger every minute. The thunder rumbles louder, the lightning cracks often, and both twins huddle up next to Lance for safety, jumping at every loud sound coming from outside.

When Kylo Ren kidnaps Rey, Lance finally gets a text. They’re done. Hunk tells him that his older sister, Hannah, is picking them up a few feet away from Lance’s house, since there’s no way they’re gonna be able to bike home in this weather. The only thing that’s left to do now is wait. Lance texts them a paragraph thanking them, and he gets a reply from Pidge telling him to call her if anything goes wrong. Lance is so grateful, but still, his anxiety keeps tickling the back of his brain. 

As the credits start to roll and the rain keeps pounding like pebbles on the ceiling, Lance picks up a sleeping Marco and grabs Dani’s tiny hand in his, her other hand dragging the blanket through the stairs. There’s a sudden loud thunder which makes Dani bury her face in Lance’s clothes. 

“It’s going to be okay,  _ beba,” _ he reassures her, although not completely convinced if he should say that, giving the situation that is about to unfold. Still, Lance holds her hand tightly and gives her a smile as soon as Dani looks up at him. When they finally get to the twins’ room, Lance sets Marco on his bed, tucking him in. He brushes Marco’s hair off his forehead and leans down to press a kiss to it, pouring in so much love into it. Marco just snuffles in his sleep, getting more comfortable in his bed with a sleepy sigh.

“I can’t believe,” Dani yawns, stretching her arms and letting herself fall into her bed. “He fell asleep.”

Lance cracks a smile at Dani, heading towards his sister’s bedside. He sits down on the edge of the bed, cradling Dani’s head in his hands as he shakes her hairband off her head. 

“You’re close to that, too,” Lance replies, teasing.

“But I’m still up,” Dani says, bringing the covers up to her chin. “Marco is weak.”

Lance chuckles, running his fingers through Dani’s damp hair. She blinks up at him sleepily at the sound, her brown eyes far away. He presses his smile to Dani’s forehead in a soft, goodnight kiss.

“Good night, Dani,” Lance whispers.

_ “Buenas noches,” _ she mumbles in response, closing her eyes.

_ “Te quiero mucho,” _ Lance says. But Dani’s already fast asleep.

Lance stands up from Dani’s bed and his legs feel weak. He takes a moment to look around the twins’ room, illuminated in quick flashes of lightning. He takes in the nerdy posters on the walls, Dani’s desk filled with unfinished bracelets, Marco’s doodles stuck on the corkboard, the toys on the ground. He spots Marco’s empty backpack on the corner, and he picks it up on instinct. He starts shoving in it everything he can get his hands on, the bracelets, the doodles, Dani’s favorite book, Marco’s collection of Avatar: The Last Airbender comics. He just can’t bear the thought of his siblings losing  _ everything _ , their room, their things, their projects. He just can’t.

Lance zips up the bag when nothing more can fit. He hopes that these things he just packed are okay, that maybe they’re enough compared to how much they’ll lose. He sighs, shouldering the backpack and closing the door to his sibling’s room quietly. He tiptoes down the stairs, noticing that the kitchen’s light is still on. His father isn’t in bed yet.

He stuffs the backpack next to the coat rack by the front door, hoping his father hadn’t noticed it. Mr. Flores looks up when he hears Lance’s footsteps. He’s wearing his reading glasses, reflecting the light of the computer screen in front of him.

_ “Dani y Marco ya están en la cama,” _ Lance informs him.

Mr. Flores nods. “Good.” He turns back to the email that’s open on his computer.  _ “Ya vete a dormir tú también.” _

His father definitely doesn’t look like he’s leaving anytime soon. Fuck.

“I’m not tired,” Lance says, ignoring the stern stare his father throws his way and decides to head back into the living room.

The TV is still on, so Lance picks up the remote control and starts browsing Netflix without really thinking about it. He just needs to pretend like he’s got something to do, even if that is flipping through the movies on his watch list over and over and over, never clicking on anything. The flashes of lightning bounce off the aluminium foil covering the smoke bombs Hunk, Pidge and Lance had scattered earlier. They catch Lance’s eyes every time, a stark reminder of what’s to come.

The loud sound of rain increases almost exponentially. Has rain always been this loud? This menacing? This scary? Lance doesn’t know, but the intensity of it matches the quick beating of his heart.

Lance jumps at the sound of the scrape of a chair against the kitchen floor. His father is probably standing up now and he’s muttering something under his breath. His footsteps sound like they’re headed towards the living room. Lance panics and clicks on a random thing that was selected on Netflix and he stares at the TV not really seeing anything. That’s how his father finds him. Lance hears him sigh.

_ “Te dije que te fueras a la cama.” _ Mr. Flores sounds tired.

“Pa, I said I wasn’t tired,” Lance says, struggling to keep his voice even. He hopes he didn’t sound aggressive because, honestly, the last thing he wants is to pick up a fight. He doesn’t think his heart can take it. Not after everything that’s happened today. He thinks of his father, of the Gabriel García Márquez next to a picture of him, his name engraved on stone. Lance doesn’t want to fight. Not tonight. 

Lance sees how his father’s eyes flicker towards the TV and narrow. “What… are you watching?” his father asks.

Lance’s head snaps towards the television. His blue eyes widen and he feels a blush start spreading through his cheeks and his neck when he recognizes what he’s clicked on, what he’s supposedly watching. And it’s the first episode of Sense8, and Nomi and Neets are fucking on his screen. Oh my god.

“I--” Lance starts but his breath catches in his throat. Lance doesn’t want to fight. Not tonight.

“You know what?” Mr. Flores says, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I don’t even want to know.”

Lance knows his dad well enough to know that he isn’t done, and so he braces himself for impact. 

_ “Es que no entiendo,” _ Mr. Flores continues, beginning to pace around the room. “I just don’t understand, Lance,” he repeats, his voice breaking. He looks at Lance then, his brown eyes locking on Lance’s own blue. The hostility Lance is expecting isn’t there, not a trace of it. The emotion in his father’s eyes is something new, something Lance can’t read.

Lance doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“How can you choose to… live that lifestyle?” Mr. Flores asks, strained. “When you know what happens to these people?”

And in his father’s voice, Lance can hear the words unsaid. Lance is aware of what can happen to LGBT people. He knows how sometimes they’re bullied, ostracised, and even murdered. He knows that it could happen to him, that his sexuality might affect how people see him and treat him. But he also knows that the world is changing, little by little, every day. 

“It’s not a choice,  _ papá,” _ Lance whispers, dropping his gaze to his lap. And even if it were, Lance feels like he would still choose this. Because his bisexuality has also brought so many good things. Thanks to it, Lance feels like he explored himself, like he knows himself better. He knows that it’s because of it that he learned to be more honest about how he feels and who he is. He’s learned to be more empathetic, to never judge people at first glance, and to respect those who think different and are different to him. And because of it, he’s proud.

He looks up at his father again, this time his eyes are watery and he’s wearing a small smile on his lips. “I’m proud of who I am,” he tells him. “And I want to tell the world who Lance Flores is. Who he really is.”

His father’s face doesn’t change, he doesn’t react. And Lance’s little heart squeezes in his chest, and he wishes. He doesn’t wish for San Francisco this time, he doesn’t wish to run away. He just wishes that his father would allow Lance to carve a home in his heart, to make it Lance-shaped and warm. 

His father sighs.

“This puts your future at risk, Lance,” he says, his voice soft and worried. “I… I can’t let you ruin your life like that.” He pauses and continues, more quietly this time. “Not you, too.”

“Papá,” Lance says, standing up to see his father, face to face. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell his father that Andy’s doing just fine, that his brother is happy and he’s living his life. That he’d  _ know, _ if he’d just  _ talk _ to him. But his father cuts him off before he can even start.

“You--you said you’re bisexual, right?” Mr. Flores says. “You like girls too, right?”

Lance frowns, but he nods anyway and his father continues.

“You could just… pick a girl and be normal.”

The word  _ normal _ makes anger flare up in Lance’s chest but he quickly tries to shut it down. He doesn’t want to fight, not tonight. Lance sighs, staring at his father, searching his face with a pleading look on his own.

_ Just… pick a girl and be normal. _

Lance thinks of violet eyes, of long fingers wrapping around his wrist, of the twilight playing on sharp features. Of that smile. And just like that, instead of the anger that would normally fill his chest with its sharp edges, he only feels softness.

“I can’t guarantee that,” Lance says. “I can’t help who I… love.”

Love.

He… loves Keith. 

The thought takes his breath away.

His father looks away and they stay like that for a few minutes. Both of them are silent, unsure of what to say. So the sound of the rain and the soft chattering from the TV show on the background fill the room. Thunder rumbles.

Mr. Flores breaks the quiet first, blending his deep breath into the background noises. “I’m not good at this,” he sighs again into his hands. “Your mom would know what to say,” he says almost in a whisper, Lance can barely make out the words.

His father never talks about his mother, so it takes Lance off guard. There’s something coiling in his chest that he can’t quite describe. He doesn’t speak.

“Just--” Lance’s father starts again. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“Pa--” Lance tries again.

“Don’t forget to turn off the lights when you go to bed,” Mr. Flores interjects. 

“I—okay,” Lance replies and watches his father head towards the stairs, not minding the computer still open on the kitchen table. 

Lance doesn’t know how long he stays on his feet, his mind trying to process everything that just went down. A loud clap of thunder makes him snap out of it. He can’t let himself carry on with this, not if he wants to save his family. 

Lance tiptoes upstairs into his room, eager to pack everything that he can. He takes a big camping backpack from the closet and puts it on his bed. The first thing he reaches for is the wardrobe, and quickly grabs four of his favorite shirts, two of them being Star Wars merch. He heads towards his desk and reaches for his sketchbooks, his laptop and multiple phone chargers. 

He also grabs his copy of Slaughterhouse Five, and out of a mix of curiosity and nostalgia, he flips the pages of the book, only to realize that half of the notes are gone. This is… strange. He doesn’t remember erasing any of them. Lance even swears the homemade bookmark has less aliens now than it did before. And he also remembers that he wasn’t the one who made it, but then… Who did? 

Keith did. 

Lance looks up at his wall, and to his surprise, the majority of post-its that hang from it are blank. Why would he paste around so many of them if he wasn’t even going to use them? Who could possibly…? Hold on. 

Keith did.

_ Keith. Keith. Keith, _ Lance whispers to himself as he packs everything. He--Keith said this might happen. Lance can’t let himself forget. Not this. But as Lance zips up his backpack, he feels the letters blurring, the sound of the syllables fading. He thinks of violet eyes and he panics. He can’t remember. He can’t remember.

“What…” he freezes. “What is your name? I--”

And in what feels like a miraculous flash, he finds a picture on the back of his brain of a boy with black hair, violet eyes, freckles and a beautiful smile. He’s looks like he’s writing something down, but his eyes never leave Lance’s. He remembers the felt tip of the marker in his palm, the soft strokes this beautiful boy traced on it. 

Lance quickly raises his right hand, hope making his heart jump on his throat. He’d written down his name so Lance would never forget.  

“You… you idiot,” Lance says into the empty room, a smile peeking from his lips. “This doesn’t help me at all.” 

**_I love you,_ ** the words on his hand read. He loves Lance. And Lance can’t remember his name. But Lance knows he loves him too.

**_I love you,_ ** the look in those violet eyes had said back then. He clings to the faint memory of them, of that cute smile, and he kind of hates himself a little. How could he ever forget? How could he ever forget his name?

His heart beats to the song of bittersweetness, of confusion and of a weird sort of happiness. Lance brings his hand into his face and allows the tears to fall from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks as quick as the rain falling outside.

The thuds and the cracks of rocks falling from the mountainside to his backyard startle Lance into action. He still has a job to do, so he wipes his tear-stained cheeks and shoulders his backpack. He’s ready.

And so the rain falls, the rocks fall, a house falls. The trees collapse and the mud flows like a river going downhill fast. Time weaves its threads into a knot, solidifying this moment as part of its finished work. No more drafts or do-overs, this is the final knot. Everything falls into place, fixing this point in Time for the life lines of everyone involved. The Fates put their scissors down, allowing the strings to remain uncut, free for them to weave themselves into new patterns, fold themselves new stories.

The finished work is a masterpiece. And it is much thread, as much part of the universe as it is part of them. 

Even if they forget.

✫  　 .  * * *    ⋆    
⋆ 　 ✹ 　　   
　　✵  　    
　　　　　　  ˚ · 　    
✵ 　 　　✵  　　 　　　　　    
　　　 *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **translations**  
>  Qué bueno verte - how nice to see you.  
> Qué linda - how nice  
> Buenas noches - (in this case) good evening  
> No te tardes - don’t take long  
> ¡huele bien! - smells good!  
> Me asustaste - you scared me  
> Ah, ya eres tú otra vez - oh, it’s you again  
> Ay, Lance, por favor - ay, Lance, please  
> ¿Qué quieres decir? - what do you mean?  
> Ese es mi niño - that’s my boy  
> Voy a empacar algunas cosas, amor - I’m gonna pack some things, love.  
> Yo siempre estoy de tu lado - I’m always on your side.  
> No se duerman tarde - don’t go to bed too late.  
> Te quiero mucho - I love you a lot.  
> Dani y Marco ya están en la cama - Dani and Marco are in bed already.  
> Ya vete a dormir tú también - you go to bed, too.  
> Te dije que te fueras a la cama - I told you to go to bed.


	10. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're sorry this took forever! we hope it's worth the wait :) we love you guys! 
> 
> translations at the end, as always.

**prologue**

 

Keith feels like his whole life he’s been searching for something. He looks for it in every passing bus, through the windows of fancy restaurants, in the rhythmic up-down from the pedals on bikes. He looks for it in his classes, in between the words he writes, in every picture he takes, in every conversation he has. He looks for it everywhere, but he’s never found _it._ He isn’t even sure what _it_ is, but he knows he’ll know when he finds it.

Some days he wakes up crying and he doesn’t know why. He looks at himself in the mirror after rinsing off the skincare product from his face, feeling like there’s something more to his simple morning routine. In his eyes in the mirror, he never finds the answers. Something’s missing. He wishes he knew what it is exactly, what is this feeling gnawing at his heart. He feels like if he knew, it’d be easier to find it. Some days, he feels like giving up on it, accepting this weird longing as his status quo. It certainly feels like it is.

Nowadays, Keith spends his afternoons walking through the city, under the scorching June heat. He hands off his resumé in different publishing houses, newspapers, magazines, anywhere with a job opening in editing. The relief that comes whenever he loosens his tie is a familiar feeling now, being suffocated by it in job interview after job interview.

The “closed” sign in front of the Juniberries’ door doesn’t deter him. The bell chimes when he steps in, and he takes in the sight of the familiar restaurant where he doesn’t work anymore, but it still feels a little bit like home. Some of the waiters whose faces are vaguely familiar to Keith are cleaning up, mopping and folding tablecloths, not even glancing his way as Keith walks by on his way towards the bar.

Allura greets him with a dazzling smirk.

“Can I interest you in this lovely 1997 Cabernet Sauvignon, all the way from Baja California, Mexico?” she says instead of hello, holding two empty wine glasses in her hand.

Keith grins, sitting down on a stool in front of the bar counter. “You already know the answer.”

Allura smiles and puts down the glasses, pouring a generous amount of red wine and handing one to Keith. He takes it, twirling the glass softly between his fingers, smells the rich liquid in it and takes a sip. He drinks it slowly, letting the wine roll over all of his taste buds before he swallows. Allura raises an eyebrow expectantly, as she always does, waiting for his verdict.

“Mmm,” Keith hums. “It’s quite fruity and sweet, for a Cabernet.”

Allura shoots him a wink. “I know you like ‘em sweet.”

Keith takes another sip, feeling Allura’s eyes still on him, gauging his reaction. “It’s also… woody. French oak barrels?”

“Oh my god,” Allura breathes out, moving to crush him in a hug. “You’ve made it. My wine lesbian ass is so proud of you.”

Keith laughs a little, shoving her off playfully. He hasn’t worked at Juniberries’ in years, but he comes down for a drink a few times a week anyway. It’s this kind of unspoken agreement that no one ever breaks, no matter how busy they are.

“Keith, m’boy!” Coran exclaims, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes Keith warmly, smiling under his mustache. “It’s good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Coran,” Keith says, soft smile playing on his lips.

“Any luck with the job hunt?” Coran asks.

Keith groans, sinking in his seat and sprawling his upper body over the bar. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles.

“Hmmm,” Coran hums, placing a finger on his chin. “It must be the tie.”

Keith straightens up and runs his fingers through his patterned red tie. “What’s wrong with my tie?”

Allura giggles. “It’s an awful tie.”

“It’s my lucky tie!”

“Is it?” Allura asks, fighting a laugh.

Coran nods sagely. “If you need someone to burn it,” he starts, voice serious. “Just call me.”

Keith pouts, watching Coran as he walks back into the kitchen to continue with the clean up efforts. “Is it really that bad?” Keith asks Allura.

“Oh, honey…”

The sound of the bells alert them of Shiro’s arrival. Both Keith and Allura turn to the front door, waving at the retired bartender turned English teacher with matching smiles. He greets them in return and walks behind the bar out of habit.

“Hey, Shakespeare,” Allura says, watching Shiro blush as he does every single time.

“It was one time,” Shiro mutters. “One fucking time.”

“It really wasn’t,” Keith and Allura say at the same time.

Shiro stares at them, looking completely unamused before he starts fixing himself a drink behind the bar. The sight is so familiar it makes Keith feel warm inside. He loves the evenings he spends at Juniberries’, the only time of the day when he feels like he can relax, when he can forget about the gnawing emptiness in his heart, the only time when he stops looking for _it._

“How was school?” Keith asks Shiro after giving another sip to his wine.

Shiro groans, tilting his head backwards dramatically. “The kids are so annoying,” he starts. “It’s like everyday they plot something against me. And like, they’re taking the summer course because they failed, right? So you’d expect them to behave in order to pass the class. But they’re just so…” He sighs and takes a big sip from his drink. “Unbearable.” He pauses. “I don’t even know why I volunteered to do the job, honestly.”

“Don’t lie,” Keith jumps in, shooting an unimpressed look at his cousin. “You love those kids.” Keith knows how Shiro has a soft spot for those so-called “problematic” kids. From firsthand experience.

“And well,” Allura starts, pouring herself a second glass of wine. “You did say you wanted to keep yourself busy, after what happened with Gina and all.”

“That is also true,” Shiro says quietly. The breakup had been tough on Shiro, even if he tries not to show it. “But I’m happy to announce that I’m finally on the acceptance stage now. And, you know, we had great times and we learned a lot, so I’m just getting a hold of the positive and trying to forgive the negative, I think.”

Keith shoots him a comforting smile. He had been the one who had stayed with Shiro in their shared apartment and spent a whole two weeks bringing his cousin his favorite ice cream and wrapping him in big blankets so he could play video games without getting cold. Keith was there for him to listen to Shiro rant about his relationship and how he didn’t see the ending coming after being with Gina for almost eight years. He was also there to hand him a huge black garbage bag and help his cousin throw out every little piece that Gina had left behind (it had not been easy). Keith’s just glad Shiro’s finally moving on, even if it’s taking him a while.

The three of them startle when the bells at the door chime for a third time when the curly haired guy wearing the biggest smile walks through it.

“Hey!” Allura, Keith and Shiro exclaim in surprise.

“Jordan!” Allura stands up from her seat and runs to tackle Jordan in a bear hug. Jordan laughs, wrapping his arms around Allura’s waist and spinning her around. He sets her down on the floor and shoots her a huge grin.

As he and Allura walk towards the bar, Keith can’t help but notice Jordan looks good. He always does. The years have sharpened his features, and a stubble lines his jaw now. He’s wearing a grey suit that hugs his body in all the right ways, and the Napa sun has given his dark skin a golden glow. It’s been a while since Keith last saw him, since Jordan moved out of town and his visits are scarce due to work. They’ve kept in touch via their groupchat, and Jordan has told them all about the winery he started with his boyfriend, only possible thanks to the huge investment from Jordan’s boyfriend’s father. It’s been going well, and their first harvest is gonna happen this September. Allura’s especially excited for it.

“Hello, gays,” Jordan says as soon as he is standing close to the bar. “And Shiro,” he shoots a wink at the English teacher, who frowns out of habit. Jordan moves a stool and sits next to Keith. “What do you have for me today, ‘Llura?”

“Ah!” she says and proceeds to talk about the Cabernet they’re drinking tonight. Keith just listens as she goes on, a fond smile on his face.

After a bit of small talk about how their day has been and talk of Jordan’s new life in Napa, Jordan puts his glass down dramatically and clears his throat. “My fellow homosexuals,” he starts. “And Shiro.”

Shiro just puts down his glass, staring into Jordan’s eyes. “I will not be discriminated tonight,” he announces to everyone in the room.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Allura says. “Heterosexual tears and all.” She turns to Jordan again. “You were saying?”

“I have an announcement to make,” Jordan says, and pauses for dramatic effect.

“Get on with it already,” Keith says, rolling his eyes fondly.

“I have made a decision.” Then Jordan stops. Again.

Allura slams her hands on the counter, startling everyone. “Spit it out!”

“As I was saying,” Jordan continues, looking at each of his friends. As Keith brings his glass of wine to his lips, he sees Jordan sigh. And his lips curl into the biggest smile Keith’s ever seen on his face. “I’m proposing to Lotor.”

“Holy fuck.” Keith chokes out, spilling some of his wine all over his white shirt and quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No way.”

“Congratulations!” Allura squeals, jumping to wrap Jordan in a hug again.

“About fucking time,” Shiro says, grinning and clapping a hand on Jordan’s shoulder.

Yeah, Keith guesses it was only a matter of time. The two had grown close since that Halloween party, all those years ago, and started dating a year and a half later. Keith had been shocked at first, honestly, not believing it was possible for Lotor to have any romantic feelings towards anyone. But Keith also knows that Jordan must be everyone’s exception. He’s just that charming, charming enough to break through Lotor’s stoic appearance, his pretentious glares and snotty attitude to make him smile. And Jordan, well, he’s got the biggest heart of them all, making him probably the only person ever who could actually want to be in a relationship with Lotor the Annoying Lab Partner Puking Emoji (Keith has not changed his contact name).

“He hasn’t even said yes yet!” Jordan says, blushing under everyone’s reactions.

“He will,” the rest of them say in unison, making Jordan blush even harder.

“So, when are you gonna do it? How are you gonna do it? Are you gonna have a flash mob? Have you already bought the ring?” Allura begins bombarding Jordan with a million questions. He answers them all, gushing about his plans and stressing over Lotor’s reaction. Keith listens to his friends chatter on about engagement parties and possible weddings, pouring wine left and right.

“It’s been almost five years, hasn’t it? Since you guys first met,” Shiro comments.

“Holy shit, yeah,” Jordan says, running his hands through his curls in amazement. “Time flies.”

Allura snorts. “Wasn’t that the year you and Keith tried to date?”

“God, don’t remind me,” Keith says, nudging Jordan playfully. “Really dodged a bullet there.”

“Fuck you,” Jordan replies with a smile.

They all start laughing good naturedly, and Keith’s mind drifts to that time. The memories are fuzzy, but he vaguely remembers going on a date with Jordan and it didn't work out. He doesn’t remember exactly _why_ , and he knows that neither does Jordan. But it’s fine, since Keith cannot picture himself dating Jordan ever, because when he looks at the man at his side, Keith only sees one of his best friends.

“Didn’t we take a random trip to a small town back then too?” Allura says, resting her head on her chin, eyes far away. “What was the name?”

“Altea?” Shiro provides.

“Right, Altea,” Allura muses. “What were we even doing there?”

Keith frowns, and their group lapses into an uncharacteristic silence. Keith remembers the trip, but only flashes. He remembers the lake and the mountains, the bus ride, sharing a bed with his cousin in the small town’s inn. But he can’t for the life of him remember why they’d travelled there. It was a small town with no interesting features whatsoever, and he can’t imagine what on Earth could’ve brought them there.

“No idea,” Keith mumbles.

“No idea,” Jordan repeats.

The conversation eventually morphs into something else, due to Shiro’s penchant for philosophical conversations while tipsy. They begin talking about soulmates and fate and time and Keith starts feeling a little dizzy, a little overwhelmed. The gnawing on his heart makes a comeback with the tickling on the back of his brain. He gets that feeling again, the feeling that something’s missing. That he’s looking for something, and he can’t find it.

“Hey, buddy,” Jordan says softly, turning his body on the stool towards Keith. His voice brings him back to the present. Keith’s mind vaguely registers the fact that Shiro and Allura have drifted off in a conversation of their own. Jordan’s face settles on a frown. “You okay?”

“Oh,” Keith replies, voice equally soft. “Yeah, yeah.”

“For a second there, you looked a little… lost,” Jordan says.

“I’m okay, really, don’t worry,” Keith tells him, trying his best to sound reassuring. He doesn’t know if he was convincing enough. From behind Jordan, Keith can see Allura and Shiro beginning to clean up the bar, so he stands up to get ready to leave. He picks up his discarded suit jacket, dusts it off, and washes his wine glass. They all step outside the restaurant, chattering easily about the possible dates of Jordan’s future engagement party. Allura locks up the restaurant behind them and they say their goodbyes.

Jordan moves to give Keith a warm hug. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on Keith’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. The look on his eyes is soft.

“Keith, I--” he starts. “I hope you… I hope you find someone who makes you happy. Someone who helps you feel… not lost.”

Keith just looks at Jordan, unsure of what to say, but before he can even think of something, Jordan’s Uber arrives. Keith watches his friend go, feeling a weird tingling in his hand. Keith looks at his palm and feels the ghost of a felt tip tracing a line on it. Keith clenches it into a fist. Something’s missing.

“You ready to go?” Shiro says, standing next to him with a small smile. Keith mirrors it and nods, and they walk back home in companionable silence.

Keith’s nights aren’t much different than his days, except for the fact that he has next to no distractions from his thoughts. The nights are long and filled with only the sounds of cars driving by his neighborhood, his breathing and the rumbling of the old AC. He stares at the ceiling for hours, since sleep always seems to evade him, with only the gnawing at his heart for company. And when he eventually falls asleep, he dreams of blue eyes he’s never met, but he never remembers much when he wakes up. Only a strange feeling lingers, one that brings inexplicable tears to his eyes when he opens them again.

Something’s _missing._

Every single morning, Keith leaves his apartment around an hour or so after Shiro. Most days, Keith makes breakfast for the two of them, given the fact that Shiro has a much more tighter schedule. Learning to cook wasn’t easy, since Keith spent most of his life making instant ramen and picking up fruits before heading out to school. Living with his cousin had made him drop those habits, since Shiro had established some rules when they decided to move in together, meaning that they would distribute the house chores equivalently. If Shiro would sweep and vacuum the kitchen and the living room, Keith would most certainly not heat up a cup of instant noodles.

Keith had complained about cooking at first, but as Shiro taught him several recipes, he realized that giving himself a task he could focus on made him feel a little bit more at ease. Cooking is engaging and simple enough, if he follows the instructions to the different correctly. It’s surprisingly relaxing and Keith allows himself to get lost in the activity. It lets him forget about the emptiness in his chest, if only for a little while. However, now that Keith is back on the streets of San Francisco, he keeps looking, never sure of what he’s hoping to find.

Two interviews and five dropped-off resumés later, Keith steps into his regular coffee shop, where the employees already know his name and his usual order. The baristas always greet him with a smile, making Keith smile in return, no matter how good or how bad his day is going. And so he sits in his favorite table, the one in the corner next to the window, and he writes.

He’s had a lot of free time to write since graduation, earlier that summer. He hadn’t had the time or the inspiration to do it while he was studying. But if he’s being honest, it’s only time he has nowadays. He doesn’t really like anything that he writes, since it seems to him like all his poems feel the same. It doesn’t matter what kind of structure he gives his poems, whether they’re sonnets or haikus or free verses, Keith thinks they’re all empty. As empty as he feels. Most of them are about confusion, about feeling lost, about the chokehold on his heart. They’re all the same. And Keith’s kinda frustrated with them all, but mostly with himself.

So that’s why he’s eager to find an editing job opening. Peeking into other people’s work to find something else that is entirely different from his own work sounds like the best plan to set himself free, or something. Job hunting has been tough, since most of the vacants require experience. Keith had curated a couple of poetry compilations back in college, and he had helped some of the writing club members with developing ideas for their original stories. Apparently it’s not enough, but he has to start somewhere, right? There’s something about picking up an original idea and look for ways to make it even better. He really, really, _really_ hopes he can do that soon.

Keith sighs, annoyed, ripping yet another piece of paper with a crappy poem from his notebook. He balls it up and tries tossing it to the trash can in the corner. And like, in Keith’s defense, he usually has pretty good aim. But this time, his paper ball does not hit his target. Instead, it flies through the air until it hits someone’s shoulder, a table over.

“The fuck?” the girl screeches, turning around in her chair to look at whoever had thrown the paper projectile her way. Her brown eyes meet Keith, who looks guilty as hell with his face all red and his eyes all wide. She looks livid as she pulls her shoulder length orange hair into a small ponytail and stands up from her chair. She grabs the paper ball from the ground and throws it right at Keith. He has barely any time to react, body frozen in shock and embarrassment, so the ball hits him square in the forehead.

“Ow,” Keith mumbles, rubbing at the spot and picking the piece of paper again.

“Fucking asshole,” the girl mutters, plopping back into her chair to face her companion.

“Pidge!” the guy with her hisses, panicked eyes flickering between the girl and Keith.

The name… rings a bell. The girl and the guy… they look very familiar to Keith, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“What?” Pidge is saying now, looking over her shoulder to glare at Keith. “He started it.”

“It was an accident!” Keith manages to find his voice right then, even if it comes out a bit squeaky and embarrassed. A few of the other patrons have stopped their conversations to look at the scene and Keith honestly wants the floor to swallow him. “I’m-- I’m sorry.”

Pidge looks unimpressed. She rolls her eyes and takes her empty mug from the table. “If you’re actually sorry, go buy me another cup of coffee,” she says.

Keith scrambles up from his seat and takes the mug being offered to him. “Right! Of course, um,” Keith clears his throat. “How do you--”

“House roast, black,” the girl replies, not looking at Keith anymore but at the books in front of her.

“Pidge…” the guy says again.

“It’s okay, Hunk, he doesn’t mind, does he?” she says, still not glancing at Keith.

“I-- of course not,” Keith replies, still feeling embarrassed.

The other guy--Hunk-- scratches the back of his head, giving Keith a tiny, embarrassed smile of his own. Keith manages to smile back awkwardly, and heads clumsily to the counter. The scene, the people, their word exchange… Somehow, it tickles the back of Keith’s brain. He gets the feeling that he’s seen them before, that there must be something more than just this random encounter. When Keith comes back to their table, hands Pidge her new cup of coffee and apologizes again, he guesses he might have seen them around in this coffee shop before. After all, he comes here quite often, and he logically knows he isn’t the only regular here.

So he just goes back to writing, and heads home eventually, putting the whole incident in the back of his mind.

In the first days of September, Keith finally gets a job. His routine doesn’t change that much. He still makes breakfast for Shiro and himself, goes to Juniberries’ a few times a week. Saturday mornings, he helps Shiro grade papers and then they play video games all afternoon. It’s good. It’s _something_ . Not quite _it,_ but something.

Sometimes, he’s actually feeling alright he almost forgets about… the hole in his heart, the holes in his memories. Even when sometimes he finds himself crying when he’s feeling happy, or smiling when he’s feeling lonely, Keith thinks he’s alright. As good as he can be.

Keith likes his job just fine, even if sometimes he ends up working overtime in the weekends. Some Sunday afternoons, instead of hanging out at the park with Shiro and Kosmo, their new puppy, he’s stuck at his regular coffee shop, ordering cups of coffee like there’s no tomorrow. He checks his emails, the poetry magazine’s submissions, sorting through all of the Letters to the Editor he’s allowed to answer.

Keith leaves the coffee shop when it’s already dark and the streets are being illuminated by light posts. When he steps outside, he feels a few raindrops fall on his cheek. It’s a good thing carries his red umbrella regularly and hangs it from the strap of his messenger bag, a habit that he picked up from Shiro since they moved in together. Keith moves his hands to open the fabric of his bag and reaches to take out his earphones, quickly slipping them into his ears. He unfastens the umbrella and readys it to open when necessary.  

His apartment is not far from here, but Keith likes to take the long way home. After a long day, the road helps him relax and release all the stress accumulated by whatever happened earlier.

The wind blows between the tall buildings of San Francisco. It brushes past everything, caressing the branches in trees, waving the flags on poles, and ruffling Keith’s hair. With it, the breeze carries loneliness, resonating with the loneliness Keith himself carries around him, whistling between his ribs. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, grabbing his phone and pressing play on the first playlist his thumb finds.

The first notes of _Taking Pictures of You_ by The Kooks play through his earbuds, and Keith feels a shiver down his spine. When he looks at the playlist, he gets that feeling again, where his brain tries so hard to reach for some pieces its missing. The title reads GOOD MUSIC (not emo), and even though the name manages to get a chuckle out of him, he’s pretty sure he didn’t come up with it. He doesn’t have a memory whatsoever of making it, even though Spotify insists that Keith created the playlist years ago.

_I have a secret I need to tell you; each time that I close my eyes I can feel you._

The lyrics make Keith feel nostalgic somehow, for a time that he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t understand why he feels like there’s something hidden in them. In between the seconds and the notes and the singer’s rough voice, there’s just something. But Keith can’t find it.

The raindrops start coming down harder, making Keith open up his red umbrella above him. Market Street is pretty lonely at this hour, especially with the downpour going on. There’s only a few people around, huddling under their own umbrellas or whatever shelter they can find.

_Exquisite visions fill up my mind… do you remember me..._

The sound of someone’s laughter a few meters ahead of him makes him look up. There’s a guy walking down the street with his own umbrella, shadowing his face. He seems to be talking on the phone with somebody, his voice loud enough to pierce through the music playing on Keith’s earbuds as they pass each other.

“Daniela,” the guy is saying, laughing. That sound makes Keith’s heart do a weird lurch. His palm tingles. _“Dile a Marco que se deje de hacer el pendejo.”_

The Spanish words are fading as the guy keeps walking away, on the opposite direction to where Keith is headed. The names though… Marco… Daniela…

Keith slows down to a stop. He frowns.

Slowly, Keith turns around, spotting the guy on his phone. There’s something familiar about the guy’s tall, lanky frame, his cuffed jeans and white Converse shoes. The stranger stops at a crossroad, turning his face to look at the pedestrian traffic light, the streetlight behind him making his features undistinguishable in the night. The guy is still standing there, waiting for the light to turn green so he can cross the street.

There’s something… something about this stranger that makes Keith’s chest feel tight. The grip Keith has on his umbrella tightens, his knuckles turning white. Something in his brain is screaming at him to walk towards the guy, but his feet aren’t quite responding to him. The light turns green then, and the tall stranger resumes his walk, still on the phone under his blue umbrella.

Keith sighs, biting his lip and turns around again. It’s late. Shiro must be home already and it’s Keith’s turn to cook something up for dinner. As Keith walks though, he swears he can feel someone’s eyes on him, lingering. That night, the tightness in his chest never goes away.

The leaves in the trees turn yellow and red with the passing of time. Within weeks, the whole city of San Francisco is bathed in the warm tones of autumn, filled with a chilly breeze that spares no one that steps outside. Keith shivers and pulls the collar of his jacket up, burrowing himself in the warmth it provides. It has been a long day at work, as he was buried under at least ten pounds of paperwork. And he’s not being dramatic.

Keith feels exhausted, his bones aching, as he steps outside the office building where he works. He usually walks home, going up and down San Francisco’s steep hills and counts it as his exercise of the day. But today, he’s too tired. His feet can barely drag him a few meters down the street to the bus stop, where he decides to take the bus home this time. Just this once. He deserves it, after poring through boring paperwork all day until his eyes burned.

The bus stop is empty, so he sits down on the small metallic bench to watch the cars pass and wait for the bus with the right route to take him home. Keith checks his phone to make sure the bus is on time. He’s not surprised that the public transport’s app is glitching, and apparently almost every bus in the city is running behind schedule.

Keith shifts the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and sets himself to peoplewatch while he waits. He doesn’t ever really get bored of peoplewatching, not in a city like the one he lives in with so many interesting characters walking around. He sees a business man walk briskly down the sidewalk, on his phone, talking animatedly. There’s another girl who looks like she belongs to an up and coming startup, with a graphic T-shirt that announces her loyalty to her company. She’s talking to another woman as they leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. Keith also sees a homeless guy walking around with a shopping cart full of stuff, not meeting anyone’s eye. And across the street, Keith spots the opposite bus stop, where the buses run the other way around.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a lanky figure making its way to the metallic bench opposite him, who then sprawls into it as soon as they stand closer. It’s a guy, with long legs that are stretched out before him on the metal seat as he fiddles on his phone. And Keith swears the young man looks familiar, but when squints to get a better look at him, Keith’s bus appears out of the blue and blocks the view ahead of him. Keith stands up quickly, tugging the strap of his bag. He steps inside the bus, trying to shake off the feeling overflowing inside his body. He takes his bus pass out of his wallet and puts it against the tiny machine next to the driver.

Keith shuffles down the bus, finding an empty seat near a window in the back. He settles down on the seat, hugging his bag to his stomach and looks out the glass. Through it, Keith can see the opposite side of the street. He notices that a bus arrived there too, scooping up the potential passengers loitering by the stop.

When he gets the feeling that he’s being watched, somewhere, so he scans through the faces peering out the bus on the other side of the street. And Keith sees _him_.

Violet eyes meet blue ones. Both pairs of them shine.

Keith feels something within him stirr. His palm tingles. His hand try to reach out, out of pure instinct, finding the surface of the cold window instead of the warm brown curls he wants to touch.

_But, there’s something I’m sure of… if we do see each other, we will know. He was inside me. He was me. And I was inside him. I was him._

And Keith _knows_.

His legs move on their own, and Keith presses his palms to the seat to push himself up. There’s this inexplicable need to find that guy, to see him face to face, to talk to him, to reach him. So Keith stumbles his way up the bus again, trying to get to the doors as they close. And then the bus starts moving.

Keith turns desperately to the curly haired boy, trying desperately to catch another glimpse of him, to call out to him, something. He meets the other guy’s eyes again, through his own bus’ window, seeing his own desperation mirrored in them.

Keith can’t explain it. He feels a bit crazy. His heartbeat is hammering against his chest, the holes in his brain are gaping, the puzzle pieces in his head are scrambling themselves up. He just made eye contact with a complete stranger, there’s just no reasonable explanation for this reaction. Yeah, the guy had beautiful blue eyes but he was just a guy, like the many men Keith saw every day walking down the street or something. Keith’ can’t explain it. But there’s something. Is this what he’s been looking for? Is this _it_?

Keith clutches the railing near the door with one hand, his knuckles turning white as the bus jostles him around. He pushes on the stop button, planning to jump out of the bus as soon as he gets a chance. He needs to get out of this moving chunk of metal. He needs to-- he needs to find the guy. To look into those eyes again. And after that, he doesn’t know.

Every second spent on the bus is torture. Keith feels Time slowing down, and he can’t see the end of the road up ahead. His feet tap on the floor relentlessly, his fingers sink into the strap of his bag deeper and deeper. And after what feels like forever, the bus finally slows down.

Keith moves like lightning, feeling a bit lucky about the fact that the bus has dropped him off on the same street he had been earlier, just a little further down. When it comes to a full stop, Keith jumps out of the vehicle.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he runs.

Keith runs and runs, feeling his bag hitting his back with every step but he doesn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t care how crazy he must look to the people walking down the street. He doesn’t care about the red little man on the pedestrian stop light, rushing across the street. He speeds around the few cars rushing by, dancing around them with their horns filling his ears like music.

Keith doesn’t know if the guy also got out of the bus and is currently running towards him, or if he’s just on his way home, unbothered, thinking about what he might have for dinner. Keith doesn’t know, but he hopes. He hopes as his legs start burning with the strain of exercise, his lungs gasping in air to keep him going. Keith hopes and hopes until he sees the familiar figure of the stranger in the distance.

His heart jumps to his throat.

His legs shorten the distance between them, as they both push their way through the pedestrians in the sidewalk. He doesn’t think he’s ever ran like this, and now his legs can’t stop. His legs don’t stop even when their bodies are only three steps away.

Two steps.

One step.

They run past each other, unable to skid to a stop before that. And Keith feels it, in the air, just there, when they both stop.

It’s a familiar presence, an inexplicable warmth. The gassy particles around them thicken with it, holding the air still for them. And it sounds crazy he can’t explain any of this, but he _knows_.

When he turns around, he catches the freckled guy staring at him, gasping for air. The last rays of sunlight flicker off around them as they take a few steps forward. He looks like he’s crying, and Keith feels his own tears dampening his cheeks.

They stare at each other, breathless. And Keith doesn’t know if his lungs are still trying to recover from his earlier sprint, or if they’re just reacting to the man in front of him. He isn’t sure if it matters, anyway.

“Have we--” Keith starts, staring into those impossibly blue eyes. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”

The guy brushes off his tears with the back of his hand. “I-- I was wondering the same thing,” he manages to say. And he gives Keith the most genuine smile, making his whole body feel weak.

Keith takes yet another step towards the stranger, the last one that makes the distance between them disappear. Up close, the guy is even more beautiful, with his freckled cheeks, reddened blue eyes and full lips. There’s something about the look in his eye, something Keith can’t describe, but he feels it begin to fill the emptiness in his chest. This guy’s gaze is like the most beautiful poem Keith’s ever read, like the first spoonful of warm ramen after a rainy day, like the first notes of Keith’s favorite songs.

Where there was a hole in his heart, now there’s feeling. And so much of it, so many of them. Keith feels overwhelmed, standing in front of this blue-eyed stranger who doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like if this guy reached out and touched Keith’s skin, his fingers would know exactly where to tickle him. They would know the shape of Keith’s body, the lines of his face.

Keith feels like… this guy knows him like no one ever has. It’s funny, that this curly haired man in front of him seems to know every inch of Keith’s soul. And yet, he has no idea what he’s called. Keith doesn’t dare to drop his gaze, to spend a second without looking into those eyes.

Keith knows what the other guy is thinking. He can’t explain it, okay, like he can’t explain anything else in this situation. But he knows what the other guy is thinking even before they both open their mouths at the same time.

“What is your name?” they say, together.

And a new chapter begins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! the story is kind of officially over but we have an epilogue planned out! it's a fucking fluff fest.
> 
> since we both started up college again three weeks ago, we've been really busy and haven't had the time to write stuff out for you guys. So yeah, sorry this took us a while. 
> 
> We aren't sure when the epilogue will be posted but it will be as soon as we can! :D thank you for sticking around to this point. It means a lot to us! You guys keep us motivated to keep writing this and we're so grateful for all of your kudos and comments. Thank you thank you thank you!
> 
>  **Translations**  
>  Dile a Marco que se deje de hacer el pendejo - Tell Marco to stop acting like a dumbass.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We'll be updating every two weeks. Let us know what you think, or say hi on twitter in the meantime!
> 
> lil0urry - @softbakugos  
> marquien - @keithconpecas (twitter); the-broken-chord (tumblr)


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